


Mockingbird

by BlueThorne



Series: Best of All Possible Worlds [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueThorne/pseuds/BlueThorne
Summary: Vergil wishes that children came with manuals or… reason. This whole fatherhood thing seems to fall outside his grasp, especially when Nero likes everyone in the family except for him. An everyone is alive AU.





	1. Sometimes I Feel Like I Live in a Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This is some self-indulgent nonsense. Everyone wish Vergil luck as he tries to figure out how to dad. Everyone also wish Dante luck because he's a hot mess.

The only sign that there was any house somewhere in those woods was a lone mailbox out by the main road. I was glad someone had already gotten the mail for the day because the rain was coming down in sheets. I wouldn't have been able to keep letters dry if my life had depended on it.

The whole "cool" part of motorcycles stopped as soon as the sky started drizzling because then I was just some dumbass soaked to the bone. All the mud from the endless driveway weaving through the trees wasn't helping matters. Really, driveway was a strong word - more like an overgrown dirt path.

I hadn't realized as a child just how extravagant my parents' house was. It stood alone in a clearing, two stories of too many rooms. In the dim blue-gray of the storm, the yellow lights from the windows shone as beacons. Someone was always home.

I had to take off my boots before going inside, but that didn't stop water from rolling off my jacket and forming a puddle as I closed the door behind me. The good news was that no one was in the living room to fuss or demand a greeting or glare at me. The bad news was that I could hear talking from the kitchen, and that was where I wanted to go. My stomach had been growling for hours, and what was family for if not to mooch food off of?

"I just wanna go out for a little bit," the kid was howling as I slipped through the dining room. The sound of my brother's voice made me halt before the kitchen entryway. He was home. Great.

"It's pouring out," he said, so disinterested in the conversation that I was surprised he bothered to answer. "You're not going out in this. You'd just end up muddy and miserable."

Peering in, I found him leaning back against the counter with a cup of what was probably one of his fancy teas. His eyes flicked up to mine for an instant before dropping back down to the kid. Not even a "Hello" or a "Nice to see you, my brother whom I love so dearly and have missed for so long." Before I could get onto him for his cruelty, Nero piped up again.

"I won't get muddy! Just wanna go out real fast!" He accented his words with a stomp. His back was to me, but I felt sure he was puffing his cheeks and glaring up at his father with all venom a seven-year-old could muster.

Vergil answered the look with a disapproving one of his own that made Nero duck his head. "Why would you want to go out in a storm?" Vergil asked.

Nero rocked back and forth from heel to toe, grumbling, "Just wanna play and stuff."

"You can do that inside. If you need something to entertain yourself, do some practice."

"But-"

Vergil's tone snapped from stern to sterner. "I said no, Nero."

And that was that. With a huff, the kid stormed out the other side of the kitchen. I could hear him clomping up the stairs as Vergil's eyes took on their dull shade again. "Do you need something?" he asked me.

"Leftovers! Got anything good?"

"Check the fridge," he said with a shrug.

As I rifled through plastic containers and mysteries wrapped in foil, Vergil watched the storm through the kitchen window. He was moody regardless of weather. "I think you were kind of hard on the kid," I said while trying to decide if a seasoned slab of something was chicken.

"He was being argumentative," Vergil said. "I wasn't going to let him run around in a storm."

"Nothing wrong with a little water."

"I can see that. You've left a river across the floor."

As I took a bite from a block of cheese, I found myself earning a withering glare from my brother. "I'll clean it," I said around the mouthful. "Hey, how old is this chicken?"

"That's pork."

"So too old?"

"You won't die."

That was good enough for me, so I tossed it in the microwave. "You know," I began as Vergil rinsed out his cup, "if you keep the kid cooped up in here all the time, he's going to get moodier."

"He goes out to play almost every day. It's really none of your concern."

"I'm not sure that wandering in the woods by himself counts as playing."

The microwave whirred like the steadily-building anger behind Vergil's eyes. "Are you really going to lecture me on how to raise a child when you still act like one?" he asked.

"I'm not the one who still lives with our parents."

"That was not by choice!"

"Whatever," I drawled, showing him my palms in a lazy surrender. I didn't feel up to our usual snarling match. "I'm just trying to say you could take it easy on the kid. Kids get whiny when they're bored. Do you remember how we used to hassle Mom when it rained?"

Vergil wasn't one to let things go. The argument with Nero must have worn him out already because he heaved a sigh instead of snapping a response. As he opened his mouth to answer, a roar cut him off. "Is that Dante!? Is Dante here?"

The gig was up. "Hi, Mom," I called.

Her stomping steps brought her to the other side of the kitchen, where she hovered in the doorway with her hands on her hips. "You have not called me in two weeks. Two weeks!"

"And how I've missed you," I crowed, placing my hand to my chest. "You're looking lovely today, as always, Mom." She had her hair up in a bun, frays poking out every which way. Along with an oversized t-shirt, she wore an old pair of jeans covered in paint stains. My comment earned me the only glare that could rival Vergil's.

"My son, I love you, but I will kick your ass," she said as the microwave dinged.

"I believe you, and I'm scared."

Shaking her head, she broke with a soft laugh. "Please eat all the leftovers. We're drowning in them. Take some with you too."

The thought was tempting. I considered it as I retrieved my food and shoved a bite of the questionable pork in my mouth. "But then I'd have to clean all the containers," I realized.

"And bring them back," she said, grinning.

"Ah, that's your ploy." She was too smart and not to be trusted, always tricking me into something. If she had her way, I would have been there all the time like Vergil. As much as I loved visiting, I did have a shop to look after. "By the way, is Dad here?" I asked.

"He's out, but he should be back soon, and no, you can't borrow any of his weapons."

"I wasn't going to ask." Not her, anyway. I would have asked Dad, but now she was bound to find out if I tried. Damn.

She made a sound like she didn't believe a word I said. I couldn't blame her. She'd learned better than to listen to me years ago. "Have you seen Nero yet?" she asked. "He's probably up in his room. I'm sure he'd be happy to see you."

I knew her well enough to understand that what she really meant was "Go say hello to your nephew this instant."

"Who wouldn't be happy to see me?" I said as I scarfed down the last of the food. Vergil raised his hand, and Mom smacked it back down.

After I put my dishes in the dishwasher under Mom's watchful eye and kindly accepted the towel she threw at my face, I headed upstairs. The kid's door was open. He had his head down, music stand in front of him, and was plucking the strings of his violin with such rapt attention that I knew I had to save him.

"Hey, kid," I called.

His eyes brightened before they even shot up to find me. "Uncle Dante! You're so wet."

"Yeah, I love the rain," I said, still trying to ruffle my hair dry with the towel. "I love to just stand in it. It's like a free shower."

"Showers are free," he muttered, his brow furrowed.

"Not where I live. How are you doing, kid?"

"Okay." He sank into another pout and kicked his feet. "It's raining. Father says I can't go out."

Hearing Vergil called Father was just the worst. It had always been weird enough that he called Dad that, but to make Nero call him that too felt surreal. I had to hold back a cringe every time the kid said it.

"Why do you want to go out in the rain?" I asked.

With a hum, he dropped his chin into his palms. "It wasn't supposed to rain today. I was supposed to see my friend."

Depressing as it sounded, Nero didn't have friends. Silence held us as I tried to make sense of where this one came from. There were no other houses for miles, and Nero was homeschooled because Vergil was an idiot. Not even Mom could convince him of what a bad idea that was. So while it was nice to hear that Nero had a friend, I did have some concerns about how he met this person and if they were… an actual person.

"Do you know how to tune?" Nero asked, breaking me from my thoughts. He was still plucking at his violin strings and frowning. "I can never get in tune."

"No idea," I said. "I'm as tone deaf as a yowling cat."

When he rested the violin under his chin and pulled the bow across, the chord came out so dissonant that my expression twisted along with the sound. "I guess it's fine," he muttered. Nothing about that was fine. "Are you gonna listen to me practice?"

"No…" I dragged out the word as I searched for an excuse. "I need to go see if Dad is back yet."

"He's not," Nero said, head tilted, eyes rolled up in thought. "But he's close."

Though I found it a bit creepy, the kid had an odd sense for demons that I couldn't match. I guessed that was why they let him out on his own, not that anything was dumb enough to wander too close to my father. As I headed downstairs to escape the demonic screech of Nero's practice, I found Mom and Vergil sitting in the living room. Mom wore a pitying smile through her wince, and Vergil looked like he wanted to smother himself in his book. "He's a bit out of tune," Mom said. "But he's not doing too bad."

Vergil snapped his book shut with a sigh. "I'll have to re-tune it again. I'm not sure how he undoes it so quickly."

"It's got a nice horror vibe to it," I offered. "I feel like I'm about to get murdered." Vergil looked like he wanted to say something, but Mom threw him a glance that kept him quiet. "So hey," I continued as I hopped down from the bottom step. "What's up with the 'friend' the kid was talking about? Did he find a frog he likes or something?"

"A frog?" Mom echoed, her head tilting. "I hadn't thought of that, but it could be." That didn't sound reassuring.

Vergil's expression had somehow soured further. "There is no friend," he said with a scowl.

Mom snagged his ear, tugging so he could hear his scolding better. "There's nothing wrong with him having an imaginary friend." Judging by her tone, they'd had this conversation before. I must have stepped on a landmine of a topic. While they argued, I slumped down across the recliner.

"I wouldn't mind him having an imaginary friend if he would accept the fact that it is imaginary."

"That defeats the purpose."

"It makes him sound delusional."

"Children are like that. They have wild imaginations."

"There's a limit."

"Well," I cut in, "he probably wouldn't have to make an imaginary friend if he could make real ones."

Vergil's eyes snapped to me like the lash of a whip. He was holding back for Mom's sake, but he looked ready to go for my throat. We'd argued over Nero so many times that I lost count not long after we met the kid. In the end, nothing I said mattered. Nero was Vergil's kid, not mine, but I couldn't make sense of why he chose to raise Nero so far from any social interaction. I could only guess it was some attempt at protection, Vergil's confused version of it anyway.

Before I could dig myself into a deeper pit with another snide remark, Dad threw open the door. The resounding slam snapped all of us out of our staring match. "My son is here!" Dad said with a starry-eyed smile. When Vergil threw up his hands and turned his glare toward Dad, the old man laughed. "My son who is usually not here is here."

"Please shut the door," Mom called. "You're letting all the rain in."

Vergil grumbled about his needing to fix Nero's violin as he stood and stalked up the stairs, while Dad pulled the door closed. His hair was plastered down from the rain. It hung in front of his eyes and stuck to his glasses until he pushed it all back into place. "It is pouring," he said. "What brings you out in weather like this, Dante?"

"Nothing exciting. I had some free time." I was hungry.

He gave that same untrustworthy smile as Mom. "Well, you shouldn't drive home in the rain. You can spend the night."

"I have work tomorrow," I said.

"Is that right?" He hung up his drenched coat only to pull a different one from the rack and slip that on. "How is the demon-hunting business?"

Always an odd question to hear from my demon father, but it was an odd question to hear from anyone. I answered with a shrug. I wasn't dead yet, so things were going as well as I could have hoped. If I talked too much about jobs, Mom was bound to get stressed. Despite how many times she'd said she was okay with my choice of career, the topic would send her pacing, and her hands would flit. Dad was the same. He wouldn't show it like Mom, but I could spot his worry burning in his eyes no matter how he tried to fake a relaxed smile.

A few months before, he'd offered to hire me to take out any demons around the forest. "For Nero's sake," he'd said, even though I'd known it was for mine. I'd turned him down.

I'd turned him down all five times he'd asked.

Today, he kept his smile and spared me the bargaining. "I'm glad you're still in one piece. Would you like to borrow any weapons?"

"No," Mom said.

"Nevermind," Dad chirped.

As though expecting something, Mom kept looking at him as he took a seat next to her. Whatever message her eyes were trying to convey was lost on Dad for a solid minute until he blinked and rushed to speak. "Oh! We were going to hire you."

Mom buried her face in her hands. "No, Dear, we were going to ask a favor."

Well, he'd botched that one. They must have been trying some new con to slip me funds. While I appreciated the concern, my pride could only take so much coddling. I was supposed to be cut off the moment I turned eighteen. That was the deal. "I don't want your money," I said. "So if it's a favor, I'm not getting paid."

"We're not paying you, but we will need to give you some money," Mom said. "On your next day off, I want you to take Nero out."

Usually when people told me to take something "out," it had a different meaning, so I had to shake my head to make sense of her words. "Out where?" I asked.

"Out. Anywhere. There's so much to do in the city. I'm certain you could find something fun for the two of you. Getting out will be good for him, and you ought to spend more time with your nephew."

Of all the things they could have thrown at me, I didn't expect that one. I wasn't one to list entertaining children as a skill on my resume, nephew or otherwise. As I leaned my head from one side to the other, the idea rolled through my mind like a marble. "For how long?" I asked at length.

"Much of the day would be nice," Dad said. "He has so much time to himself. It would do him well to experience the city some."

"So why are you giving me money?"

Mom shrugged. "To keep him fed and entertained. He can scarf down food, so expect to spend quite a bit on that."

She didn't need to tell me that. I'd seen the kid eat, watched him pack away food like it was his last meal. If I had put my hand too close, I was sure he would have bitten my fingers clean off. No matter how I tried to pick and pry at their idea, I couldn't find any issues. Sure, dealing with the kid could be awkward, but I found him more tolerable than most others his age, and he did need to see something other than sheet music and trees every now and then. One concern did strike me, though.

"Did you ask Vergil about this?" I asked.

"Yes." Mom's response was too curt.

"And he said it was alright?"

"He did." Again, she bit out the words. Vergil hated when I breathed the same air as Nero. There was no way he'd given the okay for this expedition. I was glad I hadn't been there when that conversation happened because Mom was still pouting over it, Dad patting her shoulder in an attempt to cheer her up. Part of me wondered if she'd asked Vergil to take Nero out before me with no luck, but I brushed the thought aside.

No matter my reservations, I could never turn down an opportunity to piss off my brother. "Alright, sure," I said, shrugging. "I can keep the kid entertained for a few hours. Should be fun."

* * *

"You're playing too fast again. Those are whole notes. Count them four."

Nero made a sound like a puppy trying to growl as he set to stomping his foot rather than tapping. One. Two. Three. Four. With his heavy hand, the sound droned rather than sang from the violin. When I first offered to teach him, his eyes had flashed with a gleam of interest. "It looks like a little guitar," he'd said.

"Not quite, but they have some similar mechanics," I said, offering him the old instrument. He'd been so afraid to touch it, so afraid that it might shatter in his grasp. Admittedly, I'd feared the same. "This was mine as a child," I told him as his small fingers curled around the polished wood. "My mother gave it to me. It has some old scratches and scuffs, but it still plays well. If you'd care to learn, I can teach you."

His wide-eyed enthusiasm had dulled over time, but he must have found some reason to practice because he did it without prompting. Yet, when I watched him play, his hands shook so much that the notes did too.

When one note came out as a screech, he dropped the instrument to his lap with a huff. "I don't like this song. The notes are hard. It's dumb."

"It isn't a difficult song," I said only to realize that wasn't very encouraging. Mom kept getting onto me for that, so I fished for a more helpful comment. "You'll improve. Everyone is terrible when he first starts."

Nero's hands tightened on the bow and neck of the violin as the trembling infected his shoulders. "It's a stupid song," he spat. "I don't want to play that one." Tears rimmed his eyes. I must have said something he didn't like again. He was so easy to upset and even easier to anger. There was no winning with Nero.

"You can take a break for now," I said. He wasn't going to be playing much of anything in his state, and I didn't need him breaking any more strings by trying. When I held out my hand, he shoved the violin into my grasp and shot to his feet.

While his attitude with me was always a concern, I was his father, not his friend. I wasn't going to make the same mistakes that my father had.

But then again, I wasn't supposed to be his enemy either, and I felt like I may have been slipping past that point in his mind. I could never seem to find the right thing to say to him. He was never happy to see me, but even from downstairs, I'd heard the joy in his voice when he greeted Dante. My brother was a novelty for him, so that must have been the reason.

But then again, he greeted Father the same way. And Mom.

Just not me.

Children didn't come with reason. They were all nonsense and trouble, a puzzle with no solution. It was maddening when nothing I said would get through to Nero, no matter how I tried to explain or bargain. Nothing.

I may not have been a good parent. I could admit that much. Others seemed to have unlocked some secret to the whole process that was beyond me, but I hadn't wanted to be a father. I hadn't planned on anything of the sort.

The day I'd gotten an odd collect call had been one of the most sickening of my life. "Hey, Verge," Dante had greeted in a weak imitation of his usual tone.

"Why are you on a payphone?" I asked. "Should I be concerned?" If he was going to ask for money, he should have just called our parents, his pride be damned.

"I'm at a job… in Fortuna actually."

My brows shot up at that. Father had specifically told us to never go to Fortuna for reasons he refused to disclose. Naturally, I had gone as soon as I had the opportunity only to discover a cult in his name. While I found it unsettling, Dante fell over laughing at my explanation. "Damn, I'll have to go sometime," he'd said.

He couldn't pretend to keep ahold of that amusement anymore, his voice thinning. "You remember that time you came here?"

"Yes," I said, trying to imagine where this could have been going. I had a sinking feeling I was going to have to go to Fortuna and pick him up from some disaster.

"How many years ago was that?"

"I would say four, five perhaps."

Dante spat a string of curses, cut off with a cracking sound that I hoped wasn't property being destroyed. "I can't believe I'm asking this. I can't believe-" He took a sharp breath. "Vergil, you didn't… get with any girls while you were here, did you?"

The world seemed to melt in front of me.

At the time, I'd kept an apartment flat, sparse and barely used. That was fine with me. I'd been happy with just that. I didn't need Father's extravagant house with all its rooms of fancy junk. But I couldn't keep a child in one room of white walls, an empty fridge, and little more furniture than a bed. Mom had made too much sense when she'd coaxed me into returning to the one place I'd sworn I never would.

She was still right. Even two years later, I still needed her help with Nero. She was the only one who could make sense of him, the only one he would listen to. For that reason, I would accept advice from her when I thought it necessary, but Dante had no business telling me how to raise my son. Every time he tried, I was left with red-hot anger broiling under my skin. My brother couldn't even take care of himself. He had no room to tell me how to take care of  _my_ son.

After I snapped the violin case shut, I looked up to find Nero glued to his window. Pressed up on his toes, his eyes flicked around in a wild search. He'd never cared much for storms before, and I doubted he could see much of anything through the blur of raindrops pattering on the glass. "What is it?" I asked.

The worry that softened his features was something I hadn't seen since we first met. I was so accustomed to anger twisting his expression now. "Hope my friend will be okay," he said.

"Nero." I tried to keep my scolding tone light, but my thinning patience was showing through. "Enough with this 'friend' thing."

"They not a thing!" he barked, fists trembling at his sides. I would need to focus some more on his grammar studies, it seemed.

"It's not real. Imagine what you wish, but there's a limit to pretending." If it had just been a fake friend, that would have been fine. Strange but acceptable. Even the fantastical elements were tolerable. By Nero's accounts, they could do anything and go anywhere - space and caves and such nonsense. Fine. That was fine. "I don't care if this 'friend' can do all the magical impossibilities you describe-"

"They can!"

"But!" I snapped over him. "You cannot continue to blame your poor behavior on them. I will not tolerate it. You must take responsibility for your own actions." He would come home late with tears in his clothes and covered in mud, or he'd forget to do his lessons. Every excuse was that his friend was at fault. Dante and I had tried the same excuses as children, blaming each other for everything. At least my brother was real. Though, given Nero's insistence on refusing to take any blame, he was bound to start blaming any real friends he made as well.

There was no winning with my son.

"You're just stupid," he snarled. "You don't know. Shut up."

I didn't need to speak for him to realize his mistake. Crossing my arms and darkening my glare was enough to make him shrink back and duck his head. "Nero, you know you're in trouble now," I said.

"Yeah." He wore no remorse, only a scowl. "I'm always in trouble."

He was right. Too many of our conversations ended the same. Always like this.

There was no winning against my son, and there was no winning against me.

We made a hellish pair.


	2. Shadows are All I See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like cute things.  
> I also like not cute things.

Entering the house was always a gamble. I never knew who would be there or what they would be doing. The cars parked in the driveway weren't a definite answer because Dad couldn't drive, and Vergil so rarely used his car that the battery was bound to be a wreck. Mom was often working in her "lab," which was really just a shed out back. Any opportunity Nero could get, he was out of the house and meandering through the woods.

Naturally, I'd shown up to an empty house more than a few times, but I'd also shown up before to find one of the potted plants on fire while everyone just stood there staring at it. None of them had ever given me a straight answer as to how that happened. When Nero tried to tell me, he just burst into laughter that had him rolling on the floor.

Today's roll of the dice behind door number one gave me Nero wriggling like a furious cat as Dad tried to hold him around the middle with one arm. "Little one, please," Dad sighed.

Kicking his feet and clawing at Dad's arm, the kid was having none of it. "No!" Nero said. He managed to turn himself enough to shove his hands against Dad's face in an effort to pry himself away.

"Should I be concerned?" I asked.

Despite his attempt at a smile, Dad's eyes were dulled with exhaustion. "Everything is fine. Nero just doesn't want to wear his coat."

"It's dumb!"

"But it is cold out. It's winter, little one."

They must have been at this for a while. I spotted the coat, a black one of some stiff-looking fabric, draped over Dad's other arm. Strange as the situation was, the strangest part was that Dad was trying to convince Nero of anything. Dad was such a pushover when it came to the kid that Nero could have said the sky was green, and Dad would have nodded along. The only reason I could think of that would make Dad try to get the kid to do anything was that Mom or Vergil must have told him to.

"I don't need it!" Nero insisted.

Entertaining as the whole thing was, I wanted to get back into the city before traffic hit. "If he says he doesn't want to wear it, don't make him wear it," I said.

"But it's freezing out there." Dad's concern did nothing to sway Nero, the kid turning just to bite down on a white-gloved hand. While I doubted Dad felt any real pain, the surprise made him release the kid with a start.

Nero was grinning as he darted up to me. "Can we go? Where are we going, Uncle Dante? Are we going on your motorcycle? Can I drive?"

"Sure, kid, we can go," I said with a chuckle. He was out the door before I could answer any of his other questions. "And no, you can't drive," I yelled after him.

Heaving a sigh, Dad strode over and handed me the coat. "In case he gets cold?"

"Yeah, no worries." I tucked it under my arm, breaking into a grin at the sight of him rubbing his hand where he'd been bitten. "Most feared demon in existence, eh Dad?"

He breathed a short, mocking laugh. "Oh, I was defanged long before this."

"Now Mom's the scariest."

"She is."

Nero yelled something from outside, probably about how I needed to get out there before he came and dragged me out. "I'd better go," I said. "Figure I'll keep him a little late, so don't worry about dinner."

With a nod, Dad held out his hand. More bills than I could have possibly needed were held between his fingers. "If you don't take this, your mother will be rather upset," he said, probably reading my expression. I decided to just snag the cash without arguing. They never said I had to keep it. "Do behave, Son. Look after him."

"No worries, Dad." With a quick salute, I ducked out, shutting the door behind me.

I brought a helmet just for the kid because I'd never used one in my life. He wasn't a fan. I had to smack my hand on top of it to keep him from taking it off. "I can't see!" he whined.

"There's nothing to see anyway. You'll see everything when we get there. Now hold on tight." If the kid fell off somehow, I would never stop feeling guilty. While I'd had passengers, I'd never ridden with a kid before. I had to hand it to him, though – he was fearless. As soon as he was on the seat, he kicked his feet and hummed with eager glee. When we got off the dirt and I took the first turn, I caught the sound of him giggling under the roar of the engine.

I may have taken a few turns faster than I should have after that, but the kid was starry-eyed with joy when I popped off the helmet. "Don't tell your dad you had fun, or he'll kill me," I said.

"But that was great!"

If I'd known that was all it took to entertain him, I wouldn't have spent hours stressing over what to do for the day. I could have just driven him around. Though, with how he was shivering, maybe that wasn't the best idea. We weren't in the dead of winter yet, no frost, just a biting chill. Still, I didn't need the kid getting a cold, even if Vergil said getting sick didn't work that way. "Do you want your jacket?" I asked.

He didn't answer. The city entranced him as soon as he noticed it around him. Spinning on his heel, he took in the buildings like he'd never seen them before. Fortuna had been way nicer with plenty of tall buildings, so I couldn't make sense of his amazement. Then again, it had been a while since he'd been outside the forest at all.

"Well, we're not here for the buildings, thrilling as they are," I said.

His eyes snapped down this time. "Why are we here?"

Cocking my thumb over my shoulder, I showed him the park I'd only ever been to on some demon calls. The one perk of my job was that I knew the whole city inside and out, so I could recall which park had more of the weird playground contraptions. Nero blinked at the sight of the other kids clambering on the colorful metal and plastic. His expression was blank.

"Do you… like parks?" I asked.

Ducking his head, he kicked at the cracked sidewalk and muttered, "I dunno."

Great. Attempt one was a failure. I smacked my hand to his back and shoved him toward the tire chunks that covered the ground around the playsets. "Give it a shot, kid. Go make some friends or something." He tried to dig his heels in, but he stumbled forward a few steps before he could catch himself.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked.

"I'm going to find a bench and some food stalls and try not to look creepy. Go ahead. Go, uh, slide or something."

The last time I'd seen him with other kids had been back in Fortuna. Though he tried to hide it behind a harsh expression, I could see the anxiety in his eyes as he shuffled closer to the yelling group. One spotted him and went quiet, eyes blown wide with curiosity. It was the hair. I got that same look even now from kids, just an everyday occurrence at this point. When I was his age, though, it was constant, and I hated it.

Another kid noticed him, then another, until they looked like a bunch of prairie dogs poking their heads up and staring at him like some kind of predator. Though with how fearful he looked, he could have been the prey. "Hey!" one of the kids broke, hopping down from the set to run up to him. "You hair is white!"

A few more jumped down and raced up to stare at him. Damn, those kids were shameless. Still, better than the others he'd faced. "So?" Nero asked, his expression sinking into a scowl.

"It's weird."

"It's not!"

A couple stressed parents darted over to whisper some form of "It's not nice to say that about how people look," to their kids, another thing I'd heard a lot of at Nero's age. After some unconvincing apologies, the kids got bored with their latest interest and wandered back to the playset one by one.

Nero leaned his weight between his feet, stuck in place and far too self-conscious for his own good. I wasn't surprised when he came back to me. With his eyes down, he reached up and clung to my coat. "Not feeling up to it?" I asked. He made a sound that must have been a no. Well, no need to press it. "Swings it is," I said, ruffling his hair.

He liked those better once I was able to teach him how to use them. "Then, once you get really high, you jump!" I joked.

Except, he listened to me, and I had to rush to catch him so he wouldn't eat the bits of tires. He slammed into my arms so hard I was sure they were going to pop off. The kid was heavier than he looked. "That was fun!" he said.

"Really? I could have done without."

He was still all smiles when I put him down, though his hair was a windswept mess, and his cheeks and nose shone red from the cold. "You want your jacket?" I asked again.

"Nah. Can we get food? I'm hungry."

"Sure, kid, you want a pretzel or something?"

His brow furrowed. "That's it?"

"Well, I can get you something else." I'd never heard the kid be picky before, but actually- "Wait, are you thinking of the small ones? Have you ever had a big pretzel?"

"There are big ones?"

"Oh, you've been missing out, kid. No worries. Your favorite uncle has you covered."

"You're my only uncle," he said, narrowing his eyes.

I flashed him my most genuine salesman smile. "And I'm your favorite."

He didn't say anything after he got the pretzel, but he must have liked it, kicking his feet in a furious rhythm as he ate. Before I could even finish half of mine, his was gone. "I'm thirsty now," he said.

"Okay, you want a soda?"

He stared at me like I'd slapped him. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. "Really?"

My thoughts rolled back to the house for a moment as I tried to think of any time I'd seen sodas stocked. Mom only drank them on rare occasions. Dad rarely drank anything that wasn't water, tea, or booze. Vergil refused to touch them after he got out of high school for whatever reason. So, no, no sodas in the house. "Kid, you're making me hurt inside," I sighed.

I got him a cola, but he just stared at it with those same wide, anxious eyes. "Will Father be mad if I drink this?" he asked.

Fucking hell, Vergil.

"He's not allowed to be." I wasn't sure if I was covering up my annoyance all that well. "I paid for it. Besides, I won't tell if you don't. You've had a soda before right?"

He nodded while struggling to twist the cap. "A couple times." I started to reach for the bottle to help him, but with a crack, the cap came off in two pieces in his hand. He grumbled a quiet "oops."

"Nice, kid," I said. I hoped none of those pushy kids ever wound up on his bad side. "Come to think of it, I guess there really isn't any junk food at the house. That's tragic. We used to survive on the stuff as kids. Mom was always furious, though." The trouble for her was that I'd just ask Dad for whatever I wanted, and no matter Mom's orders to him, enough pleading would get me anything. Vergil took advantage of that in his own ways, mostly Dad's weapons, but Nero hadn't quite figured it out yet.

"I need to get you some trashy snack cakes," I decided. "Oh, have you ever had a corn dog?"

His whole face scrunched in confusion at the name. "A what?"

"Damn- You didn't hear that. I'm getting you a corn dog. You didn't hear that."

He did enjoy the corn dog when he wasn't laughing at me and threatening to tell "Evie" that I'd said a bad word. "She says bad words too, you know," I said.

"Does not!" A frown settled on his face. "But Father does."

"Does he say them to you?" My heart hammered as a rush of anger hit me. If Vergil started talking down to his kid-

"I don't think so," Nero said, though he didn't seem sure. "He says them real quiet when he can't see me. I'm good at hiding."

A sniffle caught him, and I realized he was shivering again. When I offered the jacket, he turned it down like before. It seemed like a good time to get him to indoor heating.

Second stop was a video game store because that was a thing kids liked. Maybe. Nero eyed all the shiny cases with a passing interest before wandering up to some sort of demo stand. His hands curled around the controller that was too big for them, but he didn't press anything. Glaring up at the character on screen, he stood in silence for a full ten seconds before speaking. "I don't know how to play," he said.

Of course. He must have never touched a system or any games. I'd sold off all my old ones, so I couldn't even offer those up. "I'm not sure either," I said, dropping down to his level. "Back when I played, the controllers had way fewer buttons. Try just hitting things."

Nero pulled one hand from the controller only to smack his palm down against the colorful set of buttons. A snicker tore from me before I could stop it, and I found a puffy-cheeked, pouting kid staring at me.

Taking pity on us, one of the store clerks offered to teach him. We must have looked hopeless. Within minutes, the kid was locked into running around the colorful world in the game. If it had been any other kid, I would have thought he was skipping all the text that popped up with how fast he pressed on to the next screen, but I could see his eyes flicking across each line. One thing I could say to Vergil's credit was that Nero was sharper than any other kid his age that I'd met. Then again, maybe that credit should have gone more to Nero's learning ability than Vergil's teaching.

While he played, I skimmed the store and tried not to wince at the prices. The games alone would have been hard on my budget, but the systems were out of the question. Besides, Vergil would have killed me if I got something so brain-numbing for his kid.

I couldn't help but think that was unfair seeing how Nero was having fun with what he was doing. Though his expression remained blank, he was bouncing on his toes while his character- Actually, I had no idea what was going on.

My hand slipped to the cash in my pocket, the new bills smooth as I rubbed them between my fingers. I wasn't going to keep the cash. I wasn't. But if I did, well, Nero's birthday was coming up.

Nero broke me from my reverie, tugging at my sleeve. "I won," he said, pointing up at the screen. He'd beaten the demo, so not exactly winning.

"Good job, kid," I said anyway, "on your first try and everything."

His eyes shot to the floor, and he brushed his fingers across the bridge of his nose as his red cheeks burned redder. With a laugh, I ruffled his hair again. That put him right back to pouting.

Outside the game store was the main market street, the draw being that all the shops had huge windows to show off what was inside. Nero was so enthralled that I had to lengthen my strides to keep up with him. The sugar from that soda must have kicked in because he rushed from window to window, eyes wide with wonder.

"Wow, look, Uncle Dante," I must have heard him say ten times, but by the time I'd get there to look, he'd be somewhere else. The first spot he actually lingered at was a bakery. "They look good," he said. Hard to say what he was looking at - maybe the cupcakes.

"They do," I said, spotting one with pink icing and a strawberry on top. "But it's almost dinner time, and while I am the best uncle, if my mom finds out I let you have cake for dinner, she'll be next in line to kill me after Vergil."

"Evie doesn't do that, but she'll hit you with a big wood spoon."

"She does do that," I muttered. My knuckles ached in recollection. No matter how sneaky I thought I was being while trying to grab a snack from the counter before dinner, she'd always caught me. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt to grab some for dessert."

Nero looked to me in expectation of a joke, but when I smiled, he broke into a grin so wide that his cheeks must have hurt. I could make fun of Dad for being a softie all I wanted, but I was weak for that smile too. It was hard not to give the kid anything he wanted just to see it. An irritating thought in the back of my head reminded me that was because it had taken so long to earn the first one. I'd never seen anything more pitiful than that kid when we first brought him home, cowering and snarling like some abused dog.

I got him a cupcake with sprinkles and the strawberry one for myself. "Make sure you don't try to steal mine," I said. "You're allergic, remember?"

"Only a little," he grumbled.

"Your throat swelled shut last time."

"Just a little shut."

"That's not how that works."

For all the hell I gave Vergil, I felt certain I could never have been a parent either. Nero was trying to give me a heart attack after just a few hours of us being together.

The only other shop to hold his attention after that was a music store. "Everything's so shiny!" he said. As I followed his gaze, I found him looking way beyond the violins and up to the wall with guitars.

"You interested in guitar?" I asked.

"They're cool!"

"Yeah, what type would you want to play?"

"A blue one!" he said with such certainty that I doubled over in a fit of laughter. The kid was wired on sugar. He still didn't appreciate my amusement. As his furious demands finally convinced me to quit laughing at his expense, I realized the sugar rush wasn't what has him shaking.

"You cold, kid?" I asked.

"No." His lips were as pale as his skin. Hours of carrying around that coat were to no avail, but I couldn't let the kid keep shivering.

Dropping my own jacket from my shoulders, I tossed it onto him. "Here," I said. "Wear that. Much cooler." Truthfully, it wasn't cool on him at all because the size difference made it drag on the ground. His words were a slur of mumbling that I had to lean in to hear. "I didn't want it," he said even as he stuffed his arms into the sleeves and squished himself into it. My coat was bound to be a dirty weck by the end of the day, but whatever kept the kid warm was fine by me.

Stop three was dinner - pizza. I ordered general, cheap fare when it came to pizza, so going to a restaurant where I had to sit down and wait for it was unnatural. Pizza was made to be delivered, but we were already out, and well, I had the money.

"What do you want on yours, kid?" I asked.

He set down his drink - I shouldn't have gotten him another cola - long enough to stare at the menu with a burning concentration. "Everything," he decided.

"That would be gross."

"I want everything."

"You're going to hate it."

He flopped back into his seat with a huff, crossing his arms. I was starting to see why Vergil got testy with Nero. My brother had a short enough fuse as things were, and Nero was all-too-eager to argue.

I ordered him one of the specials that had as close to everything as possible, and damn that thing was expensive for a kid's size. I tried not to look at the price of mine.

While we waited, Nero colored the weird sheet they'd given him and said "I'm hungry" way more times than was necessary.

"Me too," I answered every time.

When our food did come out, he devoured his plate so fast that I wondered when he breathed. "S'good," he said after finishing his last piece.

"You could taste that?" I asked.

He nodded and reached over to steal a piece of mine.

I didn't stop him, but I raised my brows and threw him a look. "You could ask."

"Can I have this?" he said while taking a bite of it.

"I guess."

He ate his whole cupcake too. The kid was a black hole.

After we were done and the bill - fuck, the bill - was paid, I dropped him back on my motorcycle and made sure my jacket was secure enough on him that it wouldn't get caught on anything. "Where are we going now?" he asked just before I shoved the helmet on him.

I'd planned to take him home. Dusk was settling in, and the temperature was dropping along with the sun. But if he was still up for one more trip, who was I to say no?

"It's a surprise," I said.

Taking the kid down the ratty back streets must have taken some of the shine out of his image of the city. Well, if he could see out of that helmet anyway. Graffiti lined boarded-up buildings, and even the air felt thicker with grime. My kind of place.

"Again, no telling your dad about this," I said as I popped the helmet off and freed his static-infused hair. He tried to pat it back down, but that just made it worse. Through the oversized sleeves of my jacket, he peered up at the building in front of us. Above the doors was a dim neon sign – the only thing I'd splurged on.

"Is this your shop?" Nero gasped.

"The one and only."

He started trying to climb down from the bike, but I hooked my arm around his middle and tossed him over my shoulder. "I've got it!" he said, kicking his feet.

"Yeah-yeah, but there's some broken glass around here, and I don't trust those little sneakers of yours like my boots."

"Broken glass?"

It crunched under my feet as I headed for the door. "Had a bit of a scuffle last week," I said. If I didn't clean it, no one else would, but I didn't have a dustpan. Or a broom.

"Did you fight a demon?" Nero chirped with interest.

"Something like that."

Rude drunks, demons – same thing.

After booting open the door, I flicked on the lights, and the sign started buzzing overhead. Nero gave a soft "oof" as I dropped him to the hardwood; then he skimmed the dull brown walls, floors, and ceiling. "Not the most exciting stop on our trip, but it's home to me," I said.

"It's neat!"

"You're just easy to impress, but I appreciate it regardless."

Something grabbed his attention because he was off running before I was done talking. "What's this?" he called, grabbing the edge of the pool table to drag himself up. Pawing along the surface, his fingers brushed the edge of the cue ball, just out of reach.

"It's a game," I said. "Use the sticks to smack the white balls into the colorful ones so they fall in the pockets." Sounded weird to explain it that way, and telling him I got the table from the trash probably would have made it weirder, so I left that part off.

"I want to play!"

No tour, no interest in my work or all the swords hanging on the wall, just pool. "Alright," I said with a shrug. After watching me take a couple shots and pretending to listen to a proper explanation of the rules, he demanded a cue stick and the "blue thing."

"You know what that's for?" I asked with a laugh.

"Dunno." But he scrubbed the chalk on the top of the cue anyway before settling himself on the edge of the table. Since he was shorter than the stick, he didn't need to lean over much to line up his shot, but he missed the cue ball enough that I had to help him readjust his grip. When he tried again, the cue spun away and hit the 9 with a solid crack. He shot upright with eyes wide in surprise. "I did it!"

"Sure did. You'll be cleaning the table in no time, kid."

Again, he pawed at his nose and turned all bashful on me. I never knew the kid had that emotion. "Of course," he muttered, "I'm good at stuff."

I had a weird nephew, but my whole family was off, so I wouldn't have expected anything else.

Just to show off, I did a couple tricks for him with the cue, bouncing it over the other balls and using it to flick a coin into a glass.

"I want to learn!" he demanded as soon as the awe wore off, but a yawn broke through his words, and he rubbed the backs of his hands against his eyes. "You gotta teach me."

"Another time. It's getting late." Or really, he was crashing from the sugar rush. "I'm not sure what the logistics would be of driving around a sleeping kid on a motorcycle."

"Not tired," he said, crossing his arms. "But you are gonna teach me, right? You promise?"

I'd seen the same demanding look from Mom too many times to even think about arguing. "Promise," I said, my hand to my chest. "But this is another thing we're not telling your dad. Like how we're not going to tell him when I teach you how to shoot a gun." Someone had to.

As easy as he was to upset, he was just as easy to cheer up, already bouncing again like some wind-up toy. "You're gonna teach me to shoot things!?"

Dropping a hand to the top of his head, I made him look me in the eye. "Not until you're much older." At least ten. Twelve maybe. Actually, I wasn't sure what age was proper. "Promise me you won't touch any guns until then. Until you know how to use them, they're nothing but dangerous to you and everyone around you."

"Okay," he sang. "Promise. Can I hold a weapon, though?"

With a growl, I ruffled his hair under a harsh hand. "What did I just say?"

"No!" He tried to duck away, but I just pushed my hand down farther. "I wanna hold a sword!"

"A sword? I guess I'd held plenty at your age. Just don't tell my mom."

His hands latched to my wrist to free himself before I could squash him into the floor. "It's a secret!" he swore.

Devil Arms could be finicky, and most of mine had mouths on them that would say things the kid didn't need to go repeating. My only reliable weapon, Rebellion had never given a damn about anything, so I fetched it from its spot by my desk and held it by the blade, offering the handle to the kid.

Looking like the sword my rear back and bite him, Nero curled his hands around the grip. A slow smirk tugged at his lips until I let go of the blade and watched the sudden weight yank his arms down with the rest of him. Before he could crash to the floor along with the clattering sword, I smacked a hand to his chest and shoved him upright.

"Uncle Dante!" he scolded.

"What?" I laughed. "I thought you wanted to hold it. A bit heavier than Yamato, huh?"

He blinked, an awkward few beats passing before his brows pulled together. "I'm not allowed to touch Yamato."

"Right. Let's, uh… Let's not mention this to your dad either then." I should have known better, but I hadn't been thinking. Awkward times called for desperate distractions. "I should probably be getting you home, actually. It's got to be eight by now, and that's way past your bedtime."

"My bedtime is nine!" he said, fidgeting with the same fury he'd used against Dad as I hauled him up under one arm. I made sure my hands were out of range of those teeth.

"It'll be close to nine by the time we get there," I said. "Gives you plenty of time to get ready for bed." With an exaggerated sigh, he slumped into dead weight against my arm. "I'm still your favorite uncle, right?" I asked as I shuffled toward the door, dragging him along.

"Yeah." Though he tried to keep up his pouting, a smile tugged at his lips.

"And you had fun, kid?"

"Yeah. A little."

That was bound to be the best I'd get out of him, stubborn little pain that he was. "Remember to just say the good things about me to the folks."

He perked up, eyes shining. "I can tell my friend!"

Stuck in that house all the time, he must not have had many stories to entertain his friend, even if it wasn't real. "Who is this friend anyway?" I asked. "I hope he's not a bad influence."

"Not he, they!"

"There's more than one?" As if I needed to be more confused. I was starting to wonder if he was just making this up as he went.

"No, just one," he said.

As I stepped outside, glass ground under my heel again like the gears in my head working on a simple solution. "Oh! I see," I said. "Sorry. What's their name?"

"J!"

"Jay? Like the bird?"

"Like the letter."

"J?"

He was grinning when I dropped him on the bike again. "J's so cool. We go see dinosaurs and stuff. Once they made it snow, and we climbed a mountain!"

"Oh boy," I drawled. The helmet, smacked over his head, turned the rest of his explanation to muffles. Most kids had actual friends to make up adventures with, but Nero had to make one up without knowing what a name was supposed to be. Hell, even I'd had Vergil to chase around imaginary battlefields and to swat at with sticks until we'd gone home covered in welts. Mom had hated that, but she'd always let us back out the next day.

"As long as you promise to stay together," she'd say.

Nothing ever bothered us out there, so Nero would be fine on his own. I knew that, but it didn't make me any happier about it. Vergil should have at least given the poor kid a dog or something.

Actually… not a bad idea for a birthday present.

I had to take the trip back to the house at a snail's pace because Nero started dozing off against my back, even against the engine's pops and growls. After the second time the helmet tapped against my back, I pulled off to the side of the road long enough to tie the sleeves of my jacket around my chest, pinning him to me. At that point, he must have managed to conk out entirely because he didn't say a word. I couldn't imagine how a kid could fall asleep on a motorcycle, but I couldn't pull the idea of him falling off from my head. The rest of the trip was so slow and nerve-wracking that we didn't make it home 'til 9:43. By that time, my nerves were so frayed that my hands shook while trying to untie my jacket.

He roused for a half-second when I took off the helmet, eyes fluttering open only to fall shut again. No more giving the kid that much sugar, I decided, and no more keeping him out late. My jacket slipped off his small shoulders as I scooped him up into an awkward carry. He was too big for me to haul around like a baby, so I wasn't sure why I was doing it. I could have just woken him up, shooed him into the house, and been gone before anyone could get onto me.

Instead, I felt like I was a teenager slipping in past curfew again as I crept up the stairs to the front door. As I reached for the old key in my pocket, my hand brushed the cash again. Without giving myself another second to think, I stuffed the bills in the kid's pocket.

How Mom managed to hold two kids at once, I had no idea because putting the key in the lock and turning the doorknob without dropping Nero was more of a challenge than any demon hunt. I would just put the kid on the couch, throw a blanket on him, and get out. No problem. Mom was asleep for sure, and Dad was never around at night for some reason, and Vergil was-

Fuck.

"What possible reason could you have had for keeping my son out so late?" He didn't look up from his book, illuminated with the yellow beam of an old lamp. That was enough to show the fury burning behind his eyes.

"Hey, Verge," I greeted in a toneless whisper. "Didn't think you were home."

"I returned from a job a few hours ago." His voice was just loud enough not to rasp like mine. He must not have wanted to wake Nero either.

"Is that right?" I asked, slipping past the main couch where he sat to settle Nero on the recliner. The kid could have slept through a storm, a limp mess of limbs that didn't budge an inch when I dropped a blanket over him.

"You're avoiding my question," Vergil said to my back.

"I lost track of time, and I wanted to be careful coming back in the dark." Not a lie, and all he needed to hear.

"Where's his coat?"

I was lucky he couldn't see my face because my eyes shot wide at the recollection that, yes, there had definitely been a coat at some point. There one moment and gone the next. In the span of a few breaths, I retraced all the times I'd asked the kid if he wanted it. "I think I left it at the restaurant," I said as I turned on my heels back toward my brother.

"You left it?" The book was no longer the focus of his anger, as I found a dark glare burning into me instead. His volume had risen a step, so I had to match it. I wasn't scared of whatever had him in such a fucking mood.

"Yeah, the kid didn't want to wear it, so I was just carrying it around, and yeah, I left it."

The book smacked shut with a hollow tone that echoed through the darkened house. "You let him out in that weather in just a t-shirt?"

"He's fine. He didn't want to wear the coat. What does it matter? I gave him mine."

"It matters because he's always trying to see what he can get away with!" As he shot to his feet, I took a step forward to meet him. "And I told him to wear it when you went out. He just didn't want to because he wanted to disobey!"

Then that was it. Every refusal, every shiver just to avoid having to do what his father said for once. I couldn't blame him.

"Well fuck, Vergil, maybe you could loosen up a little!" I said. "All you do is order the kid around. He's not your dog." The air burned with a swell of demonic rage, pushing me toward the edge of something strangling and unhinged. It was far from the first time.

"Stay together," Mom had said, but I just couldn't anymore. Being around Vergil was infuriating.

"And he's not yours at all," he snarled. "So stop acting like you have any say."

"Just because he's your blood doesn't mean you have any say when you're such a fucking useless parent-!"

Some force like all the power of a waterfall crashed into us, fizzling out the demonic energy and making me stagger. When I could breathe again, I heard the table behind me rattle along with the lamp on top. The soft yelp that followed made me realize just how loud we'd been. Vergil's eyes were empty with the same realization as he looked to the source of the noise. No part of me wanted to turn around, but I did anyway.

And there was the kid, cowering under the end table. The yellow light reflected in the tears pouring down his face.

The light didn't reach Dad from where I could spot his outline among the shadows, yet his eyes shone in the darkness. Just a fraction of his power, just an instant, and we'd both been crushed into silence. Sometimes I forgot, despite all his smiles, he was a real bastard of a demon. "It's alright, little one," Dad said, his kind tone masking a dark edge. "You've done nothing wrong. Go ahead and go to bed."

Nero scrambled for the stairs, tripping every few steps until he was past the landing and out of sight.

As soon as he was gone, Dad dropped the act. "Should I bother to scold you two? Or are you done being children now?" No snarls, no growls, yet his voice was so venomous that it almost stung as much as my guilt.

"You never bothered to scold us before," Vergil snapped, though his bite was weak. "You were hardly around enough to do so. You didn't know how to feed us when Mom wasn't here, let alone how to scold us."

Dad relaxed his stance, breathing a sigh. "True," he said. "Admittedly, that was one of many shortcomings of mine, but I was always afraid to get onto you. Demons do not treat children as humans do, and I never wished to cause you harm, so I avoided any punishment at all. I was always afraid I would slip up, go too far and make you fear me. I am sorry if you feel I wasn't an adequate father, so there is an apology for now. But this isn't about me. You're misdirecting your anger."

"I don't need you of all people to tell me I made a mistake," Vergil said as his hand drifted up to clutch at his temples.

At least he could admit he'd made a mistake for once. "Sorry," I said with as little irritation as I could muster. "I'm going. Dad, make sure the kid's alright."

"Ah, alright, Son," he called to my back. "Do be safe. You should return and check on Nero yourself soon."

I should have, but I knew I wouldn't. I needed some time away from my family. Nothing went right when more than two of us were together, which was why Vergil and I had both been so desperate to get out.

He didn't bother to glance at me as I stormed past, and I had every intention to just throw open the door, leave, and be done with it.

For some damn reason, I glanced back. From the threshold of the front door, the top of the stairs was visible, and Nero was sitting there in a ball, hugging his knees. I didn't want to scare him in his hiding place again, so I kept forward, knowing the whole day was shot for him.

The worst of the guilt was knowing that I couldn't even blame it all on my brother anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moral of the story is that none of the boys are right.


	3. Then You Jump Straight Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like my Sparda squishy and my Eva ready to brawl.

Nero was more like his father than either of them would have cared to admit. I could see it in the way the conniving little kid put a bit more icing on one cinnamon roll than the rest and snatched it from the tray for himself. "They're done, Evie," he said before licking a stray bit of icing from his thumb.

He could be too smart for his own good, just like Vergil.

"You never told me how your day went yesterday," I said as he hopped down from the stool he needed to reach the counter and darted toward the dining room table. "Did you have fun? Did Dante behave?"

He took his time settling into his chair, gaze stuck on the ticking grandfather clock in the corner. A smile broke out across his face like a rubber band stretched to the point of tearing. "Yeah, I had a lot of fun. Uncle Dante's the best. I was on the motorcycle, and I won the game with the monsters. Have you ever had a big pretzel? They're so good! And corn dogs! Uncle Dante said you say bad words sometimes." When he shoved a bite of the cinnamon roll into his mouth, I had to remind him not to talk with food in his mouth so he wouldn't keep rambling between chews.

Nero could be animated when he was up for talking, waving his hands in broad gestures and laughing after each, "But I wasn't supposed to tell you that." His eyes were heavy, though. A bite of exhaustion ate away at his bright demeanor. He must not have slept well. While he may have been able to hide it from anyone else, I'd seen that ploy one too many times.

Too smart for his own good, just like his father.

When I joined him at the table, that didn't stop him from yelling loud enough that it echoed through the room. "I met kids at the park, but they were mean. I didn't like them."

"Why were they mean?" I asked.

He stuffed the last of the cinnamon roll in his mouth, which silenced him for several seconds but didn't take away the pout that sank into his features. "They were just mean," he concluded, tossing up his hands with all his sticky fingers.

As he grumbled and growled more than any actual demon I'd ever met, I snatched a hand out of the air and scrubbed it clean with a napkin. "Kids are like that sometimes," I said. "Adults too. Some people just aren't nice."

Nero was possibly the angriest child I'd ever met, even more so than Vergil, but Nero was a sensitive little thing too, so I let him change the topic away from the kids and go back to raving about the food. Dante sure had let the kid eat a lot of junk.

I wished Nero could have met some friends for once, even if only for a few minutes at the park. As far as I could tell, he'd never had a real one. Children could be difficult with anyone who looked different, but Nero was still just as silly and rambunctious as any other child. He needed someone to help him burn off all that excess energy. I couldn't quite keep up with him like I could when it had been my kids twenty years ago. The closest he had to a friend his age was Dante, and well, the less said about that, the better.

Nero's birthday was next month, his third one with us. Looked like it would be another year of just the five of us together. We'd never even taken him anywhere fun before, so I'd need to look into trying someplace more exciting for him than the house. Still probably wouldn't be much fun without other kids around.

Anything would be better than his sixth birthday. We had to pick a day for him because the papers Vergil brought home tucked under one arm had no date listed. The section was blank.

"I suppose he would have been born around this time," Vergil had said when I pestered him about it. He looked like he would have rather fallen on his own sword than speak on anything close to the topic. "Unless he was… premature, yes, it would have been this month or next, most likely."

"Guess we'd better get a cake," Dante said, trying to find one of his usual grins. It was more an awkward tug at the corner of his mouth.

Everything was awkward for a while there.

I asked Nero if he wanted to pick his birthday, but he shook his head. He didn't say much back then. I'd find him under the covers of his bed, a moody ball, sleepless from nightmares and waking fears.

"What's the matter, Nero?" I asked one day when he refused to leave his room to get breakfast. "What's scaring you? I can go with you anywhere to help."

"Monsters," he said. "S'posed to be safe."

"Monsters? Where?" I crouched down to his level until he felt safe enough to crawl out from under the blankets and point to the wall across the room. Vergil's room was on the other side.

"Big monster's not here." He must have meant Sparda.

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Ah, right, my husband, the big monster. So they're scary to you, huh?"

His gaze sank low as he nodded.

With a sigh, I offered him my hand. He took it, small fingers curling into mine. "They might seem scary, but they're not going to hurt you," I said. "They're here to protect you. We all are. Monsters aren't always bad."

My little pep talks didn't do much when Vergil kept glowering the whole day we attempted the party. Nero was glued to my side the entire time, his eyes flashing toward everyone else in distrust. He was so tense that I was waiting to see him snap like a cord. Even when he ate his cake, he kept an eye on the boys.

Sparda and Dante were in their usual good spirits, and I talked along with them to keep some noise going in the echoing house. Nero stayed as silent and furious as his father. Every time Nero glared at Dante or Sparda instead of him, I found Vergil's eyes burning a hole in the side of the kid's head. Not a good look for helping Nero warm up to him. Dante kept complaining about how Vergil was never any fun at parties and at one point smacked a hand to his brother's shoulder. "Quit glaring at the kid," Dante said, his eyes a shade darker than his playful smile wanted to let on. "Just because he won't snuggle up to you, and you're all jealous-"

Though I didn't feel anything, Nero pressed himself closer to my side, and Sparda made a soft hum in disapproval. I had to guess it was demonic power of some sort. The boys did love to flex their muscles when they set each other off, some sort of instinctual attempt at intimidation. "Enough, Dante," Vergil snapped.

Nero leaned himself so close that I was starting to fall over. With Dante's smile twisting toward a snarl, I realized he must have jumped into whatever dumb challenge his brother had set. Sparda broke their staring contest with an ear-splitting clap that made Nero jolt.

"Boys," Sparda said with a too-bright smile. "Let's not fight. Today is special, and Nero needs to open his gifts."

Even with Dante and Vergil settled into sulking, Nero was an anxious mess the rest of the night. "No," he snarled every time any of the boys stepped within the barrier he'd imagined around himself. Dante just laughed and rolled his present to Nero's feet. It must have been a ball of some kind, but Dante had tried to wrap it anyway, and the paper was a mess of crinkles.

"No rush, kid," he said with his usual grin as Nero picked his feet up to tuck under himself on the couch. "Your family's a mess, so I don't blame you. I'd hide too."

Nero squished his face against my arm. "Not hiding," he said while hiding.

My husband looked like a kicked puppy as he tried to win Nero's affection with an ever-growing stack of gifts that he'd hidden in the broom closet. He didn't tell me he'd gotten so many, but Nero didn't have anything to start out with, so I couldn't complain too much.

A little complaining would suffice.

None of it enchanted Nero, who kept scowling despite Sparda's best efforts and tearful expression. When the presents ran out, and Nero still hadn't touched one of them, Sparda slinked off to the corner to wallow in his misery for a bit. He would later claim he was just giving the kid space, but I knew better. For all his fighting ability and demonic power, my husband was the biggest softie I'd ever met.

Vergil, brave or stupid, tried to hand his gift to Nero directly. It was the only one wrapped neatly, with crisp blue paper and a small, sparkly bow he must have dug out of the Christmas supplies. Nero turned his nose up with a huff, and Vergil breathed a sigh. For a moment, I caught the crushing disappointment in his eyes. It was gone by the time he straightened himself up, placing his gift on the stack with Sparda's.

We couldn't get him to open a single present that night, not even when I tried to hand them to him. Things were like that for a while.

Now Nero wouldn't stop talking about pool of all things. "And I'm good at it," he concluded.

"Is that right?"

He nodded with insistence. "Uncle Dante said so."

Heaving a sigh, I shrugged. "As long as Uncle Dante isn't teaching you how to gamble, I guess some billiards are fine." I still wasn't sure how I felt about Dante taking Nero that far downtown, but he'd kept the kid fed and in one piece, so the day had gone as well as I could have hoped. The night on the other hand…

"I'm gonna tell my friend about the city," Nero said with a dazzling smile. "I haven't got to see them in forever. Can I go outside today?"

"Ah, so that's what that dashing grin is for," I said, pinching his cheek until he gave one of those squeaky growls.

"Evie!"

The rainfall had kept him stuck indoors for a while, and he'd been antsier and antsier with each passing day, wiggling every time he sat and speaking most words through a whine.

"I guess you'll have to ask your father first," I said. His playful smile vanished. Looked like I was right, then. I hated when I was right sometimes, so I let him have a quick subject change. "Did you get all your studies done?"

"Yeah, all done. Did them all before Uncle Dante came."

How Vergil had convinced the stubborn kid to do all those pain-in-the-ass workbooks, I had no idea. My only guess was that Nero refused to be beaten in any challenge. A little reverse psychology went a long way with Nero. I'd used the "I bet I could clean your room faster than you can" line a bit more than I should have.

"Good job on getting those done," I said, maybe trying a bit too hard to flatter him. "You're always so dutiful."

It worked like a charm. Nero turned all blushing and bashful like a kid handing over a love letter. Kicking his feet under the table, he mumbled some form of denial and thanks. Vergil would deny it 'til kingdom come, but Nero had absolutely gotten the trait from his father. I used to compliment the boys just to watch Dante grin and Vergil grumble. It was just as cute with Nero, and Vergil was missing out by not giving the kid some praise every now and then.

When I heard movement in the kitchen, I leaned toward the doorway to see my elder son digging a mug out of the cabinet. "Morning, Vergil," I called. There was no way he hadn't seen us, and he knew better than to avoid greeting me. That only confirmed my suspicions even more. "There are cinnamon rolls if you want one."

"I'll pass, thank you." He went straight to the coffee pot, refusing to look my way.

I wasn't sure when one of my sons decided to stop being fun while the other one decided to only be fun, but I wished they would have met in the middle somewhere.

"Nero got all his studies done for the week," I said.

"As he should."

Despite being the one with a masters degree, he could be dense sometimes. I cleared my throat with a hint of insistence, and his eyes finally flashed my way. "Did you check them over?" I asked. "How did he do?"

Nero was frozen in the seat next to me, tense, silent and staring at the table with such intensity that I thought it might catch fire at any moment.

"Fine," Vergil managed with some hesitation. "He did… well. Very well." His fumbling attempts were as cute as they were painful. Like his son, he did his best to ignite the coffee maker with his gaze. "Good… good job, Nero."

Nero didn't move, but he looked like he'd just fallen out of his chair. After a few blinks, he must have realized he wasn't dreaming because he looked to me, then to his father. "Can I go outside today?" he asked.

Vergil didn't look our way again. "Yes, but check with your grandfather and wear your jacket."

It was the slightest flinch, just a twitch of Nero's eyes, but I caught it. That settled it, then. We were going to have  _a talk_. Nero could be exempt for a while. He deserved to go see the sun and his friend. A real friend would have been better, but at least he felt like he had someone to talk to.

Vergil, though. Vergil and I were going to have a talk.

He was spared for a few minutes while we waited for my husband to appear. Vergil sipped his coffee in the meantime, staying in the kitchen away from us. Grumbling, Nero dropped his chin to the tabletop. "Where's Nonno?"

Few days went by where I didn't ask that question. Sparda had a knack for disappearing, often because he'd be distracted by something of interest and would lose track of time. Whatever he did to scan the forest for trouble was beyond me, but he had some sense of the area that kept me from worrying too much every time Nero went out alone. Dante and Vergil going out had given me endless amounts of stress too, but at least they'd had each other if something went wrong.

When Sparda did grace us with his presence, Nero shot out of his chair and ran up to grab his grandfather's arm. "Nonno!" he demanded. "I want to go outside. Check outside for me."

"Please," I said.

"Please," Nero corrected.

"As you wish, little one." Sparda pulled his arm up, Nero dangling from it until he could grab Sparda's shoulders and scramble onto them instead. Once Nero had his spot, he dropped his chin into Sparda's hair with a triumphant smirk.

I was glad Nero had warmed up to him quickly because seeing my husband moping for those first couple of weeks after Nero arrived was pathetic. That was just like him, though. He was the only one of us who was thrilled the moment he heard about Nero.

"A grandson!?" he'd said, eyes shining behind his glasses with the sort of pure joy I hadn't seen since Vergil and Dante were born.

I was glad someone was happy because I felt like I'd just been punched in the gut. My voice came out as a whisper a few times before I was able to grasp it. "Vergil? Vergil had a son?" There was no way. Absolutely no way. "Are you sure it's not Dante's?"

"I have a grandson," Sparda was still saying, lost in a joyous daze. "I'm a grandfather." I was certain I wasn't even old enough to be a grandmother, and even imagining the title being attached to me made me want to sit down.

"I swear," Dante sighed. "He's not mine. I'm a little shocked too." He stood at the front window, staring out at something, perhaps hoping to escape the situation altogether.

Vergil stood in front of us, looking like a vulnerable child himself. He spoke in a resigned breath. "He is mine. He's five years old. His name is Nero."

"Five!?" I screeched. "Oh my god, Vergil, you could have led with that."

While it was the absolute last thing I wanted to think about, I couldn't believe Vergil had ever had sex. He'd never shown interest in any person, regardless of gender. But not only had Vergil gotten with a woman, he'd done it five years ago, and there was a child, and no one bothered to mention any of it to me.

"I didn't know," he said as though he could read the swarm of thoughts roaring through my head. "If I'd known, I would have done something sooner."

I set to pacing, matching the pace of my frantic thoughts, back and forth in my head. Sparda tried to find some soothing words to calm me, but I was too far gone. "Who's the mother?" I decided first.

"I don't know."

I thought I was going to die from a heart attack right then, every inch of me shaking with my pulse. "You don't know!?"

Vergil at least had the sense to look guilty, but the expression was so odd on him that my feet froze. "I was very inebriated. I don't remember her name or face, and his files don't have any information on her. Apparently, he was abandoned on the steps of the orphanage as an infant."

As much as I wanted to lock myself in my room and scream for a while, I had to shove my anger down and deal with the situation at hand. As I steadied my breathing, Sparda spoke with the first hints of anxiety in his voice. "He was abandoned? Who raised him?"

With a short, dark laugh, Dante cut in from where he stood, still watching the outside. "'Raised' is a strong word for that place. Fortuna's nothing but a glossy coat of paint over a slice of Hell."

Every bit of joy slipped from Sparda's face. "Fortuna?"

So my sons, my precious, idiot sons, had gone to that damned cult island. If they pulled any more surprises on me, and I didn't die from shock, I was going to disown them both.

A quick glance passed between Dante and Vergil. "Yes," Vergil answered. "We know what the place holds now, but I am content to never go back."

"What about your son?" I asked. "You can't just leave him there. I won't let you-"

"He's here," Dante said. "We brought him back with us." Despite looking like he needed to lie down, Vergil nodded.

They were both officially disowned.

"Where?" Sparda gasped, all his fears forgotten. "May I meet him?"

Dante cocked a thumb over his shoulder, out the window. "He got really freaked on the way back and bolted out of the car as soon as we stopped. Climbed a tree, and we couldn't convince him to get down."

My hands scrubbed at my face as I released a slow hiss of air. "And you just left him outside?"

"I'm keeping an eye on him."

"I can get him down!" Sparda said.

As it turned out, no, he couldn't. The poor boy clung to a high, thin branch like a squirrel and took turns glaring down at all of us individually. The anger was all for show. I could see it in the way he trembled all over.

"I think he can sense demonic power pretty well," Dante said. "Doesn't have much himself, but he knows better than to let us close."

"He was fine for part of the trip," Vergil muttered. "I think Father's presence set him off."

"I will not hurt you, little one!" Sparda called up the tree. "Let me help you down."

"No!" Nero screeched. Despite his sour disposition, he was a cute kid. He'd inherited the silky white hair that looked soft despite all his tangles. He needed a haircut desperately. I wasn't sure if he could see much through his bangs. What fragments of his eyes that I could spot showed them to be a blue so bright that the distance between us didn't dull it. He was scrawny, perhaps even underfed, but his cheeks were still childishly soft, and he had a button nose that must have been his mother's.

The boys plotted a means to drag Nero out of the tree until I cut in. "You'll scare him worse if you try to force him down. You three go inside. I'll get him down."

"I could do it," Sparda said, his brow pinched. "There's no need to worry. I wouldn't drop him."

"That's not what I'm worried about." Alright, maybe I was a little worried. There were so many branches to hit on the way down. "Get inside. Now. I've got this."

Vergil obeyed with a nod, and Dante helped drag his father toward the house. When the front door was shut, I looked back up to the furious kid. "My name is Eva," I called. "No need to be afraid. I'm human."

"Not afraid!"

Right, only the bravest sorts hid in trees. Though he still checked the house every few seconds, his shaking eased.

"Can you tell me your name?" I asked.

He considered it for a moment, eyeing me for some sign that I couldn't be trusted. "Nero."

"I'm your grandmother, Nero." Saying it out loud was even worse than thinking it. I had to suppress a wince. "You can call me…" Every nickname that flashed through my head was out of the question. I was no one's grandma or nana. Absolutely not. "Evie," I decided.

"Eh-vee?" he echoed, testing the name. His head tilted a fraction.

"That's right." Sure, I could regret it later. "I promise I can keep the boys away from you, so would you be alright with coming down and talking to me?"

"They are bad!" he huffed.

"I locked them inside. They can't get you. You're safe, Nero."

"Safe?" With one more look to the house, he clambered down with no trouble, little squirrel that he was. Twigs caught in his hair, and his hands were a mess of cuts, but he showed no worry as he dropped in front of me. Those bright baby blue eyes were alight with curiosity.

Having him close was strange, impossible almost. This was Vergil's son, and I could see it. Bits of his father showed in Nero's face and in the way his gaze held a strange, sharp intelligence that suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

The urge to protect him hit me like a truck. All at once, I was desperate to hug the boy close, furious that those Fortuna bastards had ever had their claws in him. This was my grandson, and I was going to make him feel safe, happy, and absolutely adored.

First, I had to make sure I didn't scare him off. Chasing a kid through the woods or having to follow him up a tree wasn't my idea of fun. I knew better. I'd been through it enough times.

"You're awfully quiet for a kid," I said as I reached forward to pull a twig free of his hair. Eyeing my hand, he leaned back at first. Not a good sign. "There are some sticks in your hair."

"'kay." He ducked and let me tug them free.

"Are you hungry, Nero?"

"Yeah."

"What food do you like?"

With a hum, he rocked back on his heels and pressed to his toes. "Dunno."

"Do you like chicken? Hamburgers?" When Dante was five, he would eat nothing but tomato soup. Vergil had a phase where he refused anything but pot pies for some reason. Children were picky, but food was also the quickest way to a kid's heart.

"Pasta," Nero mumbled.

"Oh, I make a mean manicotti. Or spaghetti. Whatever you'd like. Evie will make you anything to celebrate you coming home."

Anything. Anything to help him feel safe and loved.

He still didn't want to go anywhere near the boys, but he let me pick him up and carry him to the house. As we drew closer to the front door, he wrapped his arms around my neck and pressed his cheek to my shoulder. "They won't hurt you," I assured him. I must have said it hundreds of times over the first few weeks. "And I won't let them close until you're comfortable."

Sparda wasn't a fan of that last promise. Bless his bleeding heart, he still followed it to a T, staying at least five paces from Nero at all times. His first attempt to have the kid warm up to him went about as well as I'd expected.

"I'm your grandfather, Sparda," he said with a smile and a hand placed over his heart. "It's a pleasure, Nero. I'm thrilled to meet you."

One of the distrusting frowns I was getting used to seeing sank onto Nero's face. "Not Sparda," he said.

"Oh, you must have heard… the stories." Sparda's smile fizzled out, but he did his best to drag it back. "Well, I am Sparda. That is my name. I am a demon, and I'm certain that worries you, but I would never do you any harm, little one. I think we can get along quite well. You're welcome to call me anything you like." He offered the boy a hand, but Nero had learned that he liked to use my legs as a barrier and hid himself from Sparda's view.

"Not Sparda," Nero grumbled.

Few came quite so close to breaking my husband's spirit as Nero, and Sparda breathed a soft sigh as his smile slipped once more. "Ah, I suppose I'd rather not be called that. Anything else, though. Any title is welcome."

Nero didn't seem to care enough to give him one, but we were lucky to get more than two words out of the kid at a time. Dante had a bit more luck. He'd visit every couple days, more than he ever had before, and would wave at Nero from across the room. "Hey, kid, it's your Uncle Dante again," he'd say, "not to be confused with your broody dad. I'm the fun one."

After the third time, Nero nodded in greeting, but it took a while before he stopped glaring at his uncle's every move.

Vergil, well, I just didn't know with Vergil. With some coaxing, I got him to break the lease on his apartment and come home. "At least for a little while," I said.

He made a sound that might have been a laugh if not for its mocking edge. "It doesn't matter where I am. The boy wants nothing to do with me. You're the only one having any luck with him."

"Don't expect me to raise your son, Vergil. If you don't think you're capable, I will take over, but I need you to at least try. Give him some time. Talk to him. He'll warm up to you."

For once, he let sorrow sink deep into his eyes without trying to hide it. "I will… try."

That was all I could ask of him.

I did wonder how they'd gotten Nero to go with them at all considering his aversion and Vergil's winning attitude. No matter how I asked, though, neither of my sons would give me the full story.

I'd already disowned them, so I couldn't find a suitable enough threat to make them spill it.

As if in competition with his sons to see who could make the worst decisions, Sparda rushed up to me a few days after our disastrous birthday party with a "great idea." He clasped my hands in his, positively giddy. "Nero is simply afraid of me because he senses demonic power from my human form, and this surely confuses him."

I loved my husband dearly, but his ideas always made me nervous. "I don't think I like where this is going," I said, "and I'm not sure that's the only reason he's afraid of you, but go on."

"If he sees my true form, he will understand what I really am, and he will see has no reason to fear."

I nodded, my expression blank. "That is the worst idea I've ever heard."

"No, I assure you it will work perfectly." Tugging my hands up, he brushed his lips to the backs of my fingers. Flattery would get him nowhere, but it was a nice touch. "Do help me in this, my dear."

I only agreed because Nero was bound to see the boys' devil forms at some point, and a controlled environment was better than one of them giving the poor boy the shock of his life. We did make an effort to explain ahead of time while Nero peered around my legs to glare at his grandfather.

"He'll look scary, but he'll still be the same person, and he won't hurt you," I said. "I'll stay between you two, alright?"

Nero nodded.

"I don't think my true form looks that scary. Does it?" Sparda asked.

Well, no, not to me. "Aren't you supposed to want to look scary? You are a demon."

"I wouldn't wish to scare you or Nero."

Then we shouldn't have been trying this nonsense plan to begin with. The swell of demonic energy that hit as Sparda's form crackled with static was strong enough that I felt it like a buzzing swarm across my skin. Nero must have felt it far worse. I held tight to his hand which shook in my grasp.

And then there was Sparda, towering there with his horns and fangs and all that. "See?" I said to Nero. "He's not that scary. He's just like an oversized bug. Here." Slipping the hidden flyswatter from behind my back, I poked the end of the handle against the wide-eyed kid's arm.

"Dear, we have been over this 'bug' thing," Sparda said in a dual-toned voice that both rasped and sang. "I am not an insect, honest."

"Sure." After a bit more poking, I managed to get Nero to take the flyswatter. "He's just scared," I told the kid. "That's his greatest weakness."

"It is not," Sparda sighed, a sound like metal in a blender.

Nero looked from the flyswatter to me then to Sparda. With slow, hesitant steps, Nero pulled me closer to the demon. I made a quick motion for Sparda to crouch down, and he did just in time for Nero to rear back and smack the flyswatter to his face.

"Dear, stop laughing," Sparda pleaded, but I was doubled over with tears in my eyes. I'd never seen anything better in my life. Nero must have found that encouraging because he kept lightly slapping Sparda with the harmless piece of plastic. "Little one, why?" Sparda asked.

"Bug," Nero said. The edges of his lips tugged toward a smile until a soft giggle bubbled from his mouth.

I found tears welling up in my eyes for a different reason. Nero hadn't smiled once, not a single time since I'd met him. It fit his face so much better than all the pouting and scowling.

His hand slipped from mine, and he reached up to tug at one of Sparda's horns. "A bug," Nero said again, pulling himself up onto Sparda's horn, his feet in the hooked curve. Though I would have thought Nero was suddenly a bit too comfortable around the demon, Sparda just tilted his head to account for the new weight.

"I'm not a bug. I'm your grandfather, little one."

Nero giggled again, his voice coming out as a bright chirp I'd never heard from him. "Bug Nonno!"

"Nonno?" His lips quirked with a smile. "I quite like that one. Can we keep it?"

Nero nodded. "You're Nonno." He pointed toward me. "Evie." Then to the front door. "Uncle Dan...te."

We both waited for him to continue, but he ended it there, bringing his hand back to hold onto Sparda's horn. With careful movements, Sparda stood up so that Nero could dangle from his horn like it was another tree branch. "Nonno have wings," Nero said. "Fly? We fly?"

"Certainly!"

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"No," Sparda corrected. With another crash of power and sparks, he snapped to his human form, letting Nero fall into his arms when the perch vanished.

"Aw." The kid set to pouting again, but he didn't fight the arms cradling him.

Sparda was positively grinning. "See? It worked."

"This is the first time one of your plans ever has."

If miracles ever came to demons, that was one of them. The next time Dante showed up, he yelled his usual greeting through the house for Nero. "Hi, Uncle Dante," Nero said back.

For once in his life, Dante was stunned speechless. That lasted for about half a second. "Hey, kid," he said with a smile. "Good to see you. Did you miss me?"

"No."

"Ah, ow, you're a heartbreaker, kid."

I waited for things to improve that way between Nero and Vergil. To some extent, their relationship did improve. They learned to talk to each other, and Vergil could stand by Nero with no trouble, yet that uneasy divide didn't dissipate.

So I waited for things to improve, hoping for the best all the while.

I was still waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for your talking-to, Vergil.


	4. And You Grab the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to have this chapter posted on Father's Day, but it didn't happen. Sad. You know what's sadder? Vergil's parenting.

Father was the same with Nero as he'd been with us - forgiving and eager to please. The number of times he'd properly scolded us were so few that I could recall them all off the top of my head. Most cases had to do with us pilfering weapons and running off to fight demons far beyond our strength at the time. But, to my knowledge, Father had never scolded Nero, and I doubted he ever would.

Troublesome but not surprising. Reportedly, grandparents were supposed to be like that, not that I'd ever had any myself, and Mom didn't quite fit the mold.

"Be back in time for lunch," she said. "If you're late again, I'm going to start giving you a stopwatch to take along."

"I know," Nero droned with a familiar impatience. "Come on, Nonno. I want to go out."

"Yes, of course." The usual smile lilted Father's voice. "Are you going to see J today then?"

The silence that followed was strangling. I could feel Nero's eyes flash toward me, waiting for some response, but I had yet to look up from my coffee, and I wasn't going to. Nero could do as he liked, and if Father wanted to be involved in the game, I wouldn't stop him. As long as Nero didn't bother me with it, didn't try to lie his way out of trouble, I didn't care.

Nero mumbled something to Father, who laughed as he carried the boy out toward the door. I hoped they would remember to grab Nero's coat. The last thing I wanted to do was get onto him for that again. I was far too tired for it. The coffee wasn't working.

"Vergil," Mom began in the gentle yet prodding tone that marked any of our talks about Nero. Tearing my eyes from the dark void of my coffee, I found her leaning against the counter and unraveling another cinnamon roll to eat bit by bit. Her stare could have cut any man in half. She was waiting for an explanation, not asking yet still demanding in her own way.

"I suppose it was too much to hope you didn't find out about this one," I said. "Was it Father or Dante who told you?"

She shrugged. "Both. Neither. Dante hung up on me when I tried to call him - and you can bet your ass he's going to hear about that later - and your father has been avoiding me all morning. That's certainly a tip-off, but it's much more obvious that you and Nero are both looking stressed and exhausted to high hell. So what happened?"

There was no hiding anything from my mother. Hissing a sigh through my teeth, I wracked my brain for the best way to explain. "There was a fight," I decided.

"Isn't there always?"

"Between Dante and I."

She nodded, still waiting for something unexpected.

"And Nero heard everything."

"And you were fighting about Nero," she concluded. "So he thinks you're both mad at him."

My hands halted before I could take another sip of coffee. "Why would he think that? We were fighting with each other. Nero had nothing to do with it."

With a roll of her eyes, she sighed. "You just admitted that Nero had everything to do with it. You were both yelling about him, you were mad, and there was something about a jacket." She twirled her hand with lazy, sweeping gestures as though the whole thing was obvious. "So of course he thinks you're mad at him, and don't act like you weren't at least a little bit. So now all three of you feel guilty over this whole silly ordeal because I could never seem to teach you thick-skulled kids how to talk out your problems."

I hated how right she always sounded. "We were 'talking' them out," I muttered around the rim of my mug.

"Yelling doesn't count. You just need to be more mindful of how you act around Nero, Vergil. He's a little kid."

She made it sound so simple. I wished it could have been. "But he's my child," I said, the concept still difficult to voice and even more difficult to grasp, "and he's...obstinate."

Her hand smacked over her mouth in an effort to stifle her laugh, but I could still see it in the way her eyes gleamed. "All children are, Vergil. Nero is no different."

"No, he's far more stubborn," I huffed, snatching a cinnamon roll from the pan. They were dreadfully sweet, but maybe the sugar would help where the coffee failed. "He specifically goes out of his way to disobey me."

Dropping to her forearms against the counter, she leaned down as he voice lowered. "Let me tell you a secret.  _You and your brother were the same_."

I didn't have an argument for that, so I stuffed a bite of the awful pastry in my mouth. A smile pulled at the corner of Mom's lips, but this one didn't show in her eyes. "You just… don't really seem to treat him like your son, you know?" she said. "Like, don't you find it strange that he calls you 'Father?'"

As I finished chewing, I shook my head. "That was what he chose to call me." And that was fine by me. I couldn't fathom him calling me anything else at that point. I was no one's "Dad." The first time he'd called me anything had been about a month after we brought him home. Before that, he'd avoided any titles, but truthfully, he'd avoided me entirely.

I suppose we were the same in that sense. He'd been the one to break the silence on a night I sat in the library by lamplight, rereading the same pages over and over in a losing battle to stay focused. I didn't even hear him approach. When he spoke from the doorway, his voice so soft and timid that it barely touched the air, my eyes snapped toward him with a jolt. "Um… Fa… Father?" The word was stretched and strained, as though he wasn't sure how to pronounce it. Anxious eyes searched me for confirmation as he shifted his weight between his feet.

"Nero?" I found my tone matching his before I forced it stable. "You should be asleep. It's…" I glanced around for a clock that wasn't there. "Late."

"Hungry," he grumbled, hands tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

"You're hungry?"

He nodded.

I thought he would only take food from Mom. At least, she was the only one who would give him food at the time. We didn't trust Father much in the kitchen. Keeping your child fed seemed like the most basic step of being a parent, so it was absurd that I had yet to make him a single meal. Mom kept saying, "Baby steps, Vergil," but I couldn't think of a smaller step than that.

Standing, I instructed Nero to follow. He raced after me on his toes, making no sound despite the old floorboards underfoot. When we reached the top of the stairs, I felt his hand brush mine, but when I glanced down to see what he wanted, his eyes shot away from mine, and his hands locked to the banister.

I should have said something then.

There were so many times I should have said something.

Instead, we stood in the kitchen in silence, save for Nero's occasional yawns. He watched me cook one of the few recipes I knew he liked - pancakes. I'd seen him cook them with Mom in much the same way she used to cook them with us, letting him sit on the counter and hand her things, holding him up to try to flip one with the spatula.

He just watched me from several paces away. I wasn't sure if I were allowed to touch him. He hadn't allowed me that close since we first met.

Though I overcooked the pancakes a bit and forgot to put butter on them, he ate them with such a fervor that it seemed we never fed him. When he was done, he held up his plate for me. "Thank you…" Again, this piercing eyes searched me for something. "Father."

I hoped my face didn't show how my chest felt tight at the sound of the name. "You're welcome."

And that was the end of that. He dashed off into the darkened house, so quiet that he could have vanished completely. The silence didn't last. He'd learned to be quite vocal since then, and he no longer hesitated in calling me Father, though I never felt less troubled from hearing it.

But it was the name he chose, likely the best I could have hoped for.

"Yes," Mom said with a bite of irritation. "I suppose you didn't tell him what to call you, but I'm not sure he knew he had an option."

"Why wouldn't he? He picked his name for Father."

"Your father told him he could."

There must have been a point to all this, but I couldn't fathom what it was. One thing I could say in Father's favor was that he was blunt, always straight to the point. Mom worked through implication, my least favorite sort of puzzle.

"It's simply a title," I said. "It works as well as any other."

"It's the most awkward, formal thing I hear out of that kid's mouth on a regular basis. But-" She tossed up her hands. "-I can't change that. It's up to you."

"I don't understand why anything needs changing."

"A lot of things need changing, Vergil. That's not even the tip of the iceberg."

Irritation sank into my expression. "Enough with the vagaries. Just tell me what I've been doing wrong. Again."

"It's that." Her pointer finger came up and jabbed me between the eyes. "That right there. All of it. You treat Nero like he's he's an obligation, a burden even, like some extra weight you're dragging around. It's a cold day in hell when you show that kid affection."

"That's not true," I said, leaning back from her reach. "I treat him the same as the rest of you."

"You don't, and even if you did, it wouldn't be right. He's your son, Vergil, and he's seven. The more you act like he's a burden, the more he's going to see himself as one to you." Her hand shot up in a halting motion to cut me off before I could speak. "I know you don't mean to, but that's how it is."

My face burned from a swell of anger that I knew was misplaced. I tried to smother it to embers, but a sting of fire threaded through my voice. "I suppose I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. I wasn't prepared to have a child."

"No one is, Vergil."

But I was a far greater exception. I was not supposed to have a child. Dante could have made such a mistake but not me. Dante should have been the one stupid enough to wind up with such a…

Trouble. Problem. Burden.

No, Nero wasn't any of those things. I may have made a mistake, but Nero wasn't it. My son was no mistake. I'd known that from the first moment I saw him.

Even when I arrived in Fortuna, I still thought Dante must have been pulling some elaborate prank just to rile me up. That was the sort of thing he would do, and it was a nice delusion to keep me from losing my damn mind from the reality of things.

When I met him on a street corner, though, his eyes were heavy with exhaustion. Stress ate at him enough that he was chewing on a patch of skin along his thumb. Dante's nervous tics were something to fear.

He didn't greet me. In fact, he didn't notice my presence until I was at an arm's length. As soon as his gaze flashed toward me, he grabbed me by the wrist and started dragging me down the street. "Just walk," he said before I could demand to know what he was doing. His tone was so firm, so serious, and so unlike Dante that I found myself falling into step beside him. "Don't stare," he said as he released his grip. "They already have an eye on me."

Of course they did. With the way my brother drew attention, people always watched him. He'd never taken issue with that before, yet his expression was harsh with a fury I rarely saw from him.

"Who are  _they_?" I asked.

"I'll tell you later. There, to the left."

Looking across the street, I saw a building with a chain-link fence attached. A number of children dotted the yard, surrounded by faded toys that had once been colorful. I'd intended to be subtle, just a quick glance. But pale eyes caught mine.

He stood alone in the corner of the yard, a wispy ghost of a child. His skin was almost as white as his hair, and his expression was calm, yet his gaze burned with something I couldn't fathom. Maybe he knew because in that instant, when our eyes locked, I did.

My head was a whirl of thoughts, questions and wants tumbling over each other until I felt another tug on my arm that ripped me back into reality and away from the boy's stare. "Keep walking," Dante said. "We'll have to wait for the damn Knights to stop hanging around."

I allowed him to pull me away, but I could feel the boy's eyes on my back until we turned the corner at the end.

The look of his gaze stuck in my head long after that.

Mom's hand smacked into my back hard enough to knock me forward and out of my reverie. "You're sulking again," she said. "Enough of that. Cheer up. I think both you and Nero could use the same thing. You need to get out more, make some friends."

I'd never heard something less appealing in my life. "Where would you suggest Nero go?"

Though her brows rose at my lack of personal inclusion in the question, she knew well to choose her battles. "Well, school would have been my first suggestion, but I know you have a stick up your ass about that."

I wasn't sure whether Dante picked up such language from her, or if she had picked it up from him. Either way, I could have done without. "He's already a grade level ahead, almost two," I said. "At this point, it is unfair to him as well as other students to enroll him. He learns well."

My teaching certainly helped, but he was a bright boy given the right direction. The bastards in Fortuna either didn't know or didn't care because Nero couldn't speak more than a few words when we first met. He couldn't read anything, tie his shoes, or tell his left from his right. But he was as sharp as his eyes suggested. If nothing else, my son had my wits.

"Alright, I'll drop the school thing. For now," Mom said. "But there are all sorts of group activities for kids around the city. I think one of those would do him some good."

"You know how unfair it would be to put him in a sporting event." I'd never been interested, but Dante had been in baseball for two weeks before Mom quietly pulled him from the team. Too many home runs for a ten-year-old.

"There are other activities," she said. "What about a children's orchestra?"

"Those exist?" I asked, my eyes narrowing at the thought. "They must sound dreadful."

Mom swatted the back of my head. "Be nice. I think there might be one in the city, so why don't we look it up and see if there's anything we can sign him up for?"

The last time I'd seen Nero with other children, I'd needed to intervene. Children could be cruel. The last thing I wanted was to see him in such a state again. Cornered. Trembling with fear and anger.

Mom must have seen the anxiety playing on my face because she lowered her voice. "We'll just give it a try. If he doesn't like it, he doesn't have to go, but let's see before we give up, alright?"

I could have argued if I wanted, could have said no. Unlike Dante, Mom would let me have final say when it came to Nero. I rarely did deny her a request, though, even if it meant letting Dante take my son out on some dangerous romp through the city. She had done too much for me and Nero.

"Alright," I said. "Let's see."

* * *

Nero wasn't as sneaky as he used to be, at least, not when his socks sloshed with every step. He also didn't come in through the back door unless he was hoping to hide something.

Looking up from the stack of papers I'd been shuffling through, I caught Mom's knowing gaze. We must have been thinking the same thing. "Your son did something," she sighed.

"He does that sometimes," I muttered, smacking the papers back into a neat pile and settling them on the coffee table. Nero must have hoped we would be out of the way, off working in more secluded spaces, but he wasn't so lucky this time. He peered into the living room like a mouse scanning for hungry cats. As his eyes shot wide at the sight of us, Mom waved at him.

"Nero, sweetie, why are you such a mess?" she asked.

Dirty water stained his hair like grease, and mud smudged his cheek. Some of it was starting to dry into dirt and flake away. Another spot was tinged a dark marroon from a mix of blood. His jacket was a wreck. The whole left side was soaked in mud, painting the blue sleeve brown. He ducked back into the kitchen doorway before we could see how bad the rest of him looked.

With a sigh, I stood. "Nero, come out here. What happened?"

Grumbling, he shuffled out into view. His pants and shoes were just as ruined. "Fell down."

"You're wet," Mom said. Fear upset her tone, making me pause. "Did you go to the creek?"

The way he averted his eyes said enough, and I had to press the tips of my fingers to my forehead to hold back the scolding on the tip of my tongue. Not today. Mom could handle this one.

"Nero Sparda, you know you're not allowed that far," she said. "It's not safe."

"I know," he howled like a wounded dog. "I said it wasn't allowed. I said! But J wanted to go."

A snarl tore from me in an instant. "Do not lie. Accept fault for your actions. Enough trying to pass off blame."

Mom raised a hand to stop me as Nero shrank back. Though his head was down, his lip twitched in anger. If he so much as considered challenging me-

"Nero," Mom said. "I want you to tell me why it was a bad idea for you to go to the creek."

"S'dangerous."

"Why?" she pressed.

"'Cause Nonno can't find me over there."

"And?"

With a huff, he smacked his arms down by his side, sending splatters of mud to the floor. "'Cause I can fall in."

"You're lucky the water level is low right now," she said, nodding. "You could have been a lot worse off. Looks like you did get some scratches, and I'm sure you're cold, so you should get a shower and some clean clothes. Then you can clean up all the mud you tracked in."

"Yeah, sorry," Nero sighed.

"I think you have enough proof of why you shouldn't go back to the creek again. Think it over while you clean up. When you're done, I'll have to clean up those cuts, and I think the peroxide will be ample punishment. Just don't do this again, or you'll be in some proper trouble."

I blinked as Nero pressed up to his toes and raced to the stairs. "Wait, that's it?" I asked. She hadn't even gotten angry. Few demons were as terrifying as my mom when something set her off, and Dante and I had been on the receiving end of that quiet, simmering rage on several occasions. Because of it, I'd learned what not to do and how not to get caught. Seeing Mom so calm was absurd to me.

"He feels guilty," she said, shrugging. "He knows he did something wrong."

"He blamed his imaginary friend again."

"Yes, but I don't think he'll be going near the creek anymore." Turning heel, she headed into the kitchen. "You should tell him about the orchestra when he gets back," she said over her shoulder.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"It was your idea."

"Yours now!" she yelled from the kitchen.

Great. So he could hate me for it when he didn't like idea or when things went wrong. Just what I needed.

While we waited for Nero to return, I debated the best method to bring up the idea. A dozen scenarios played through my head, most of them ending with Nero more miffed at me than before. Mom returned with the peroxide, cotton balls, and a box of the colorful adhesive bandages that so often covered Nero's hands, face, elbows, and knees. His favorites were the blue and purple ones, and he hated the yellow ones. I'd learned that lesson after earning a pout for handing him the wrong color.

His hair was back to snowy white when he hopped back down the stairs. Drops of water clung to the ends of his too-long bangs. He needed a haircut. It was a wonder he could see anything, but Dante was the same. Anytime I tried to suggest that Nero cut or even brush his hair, I earned a stare swarmed with offense. I was starting to think that was just because Nero didn't like any suggestions that came from me.

"Roll up those sleeves," Mom said, brandishing the bottle of peroxide. "Sweats will not protect you from me."

With a whine, Nero pulled up a gray sleeve to reveal ugly scrapes that had eaten away at his skin. Intruding dirt gave them an angry red halo of threatened infection. He didn't heal as well as I did. Of course he wouldn't. He didn't have as much demon blood.

The thought always sent panic racing through my chest. If something were to get ahold of him, and I wasn't there… Well, it was about time I trained him. I'd need to decide which sword would suit him best, and I would have to find a way to keep Mom from finding out.

As though she'd read my thoughts, she cleared her throat. I found her demanding stare on me as she held tight to Nero's arm to keep him from wiggling free while the peroxide bubbled on his arm. She wanted something of me. Again, I wished she would have been more direct.

"You're just as dense as your father sometimes," she muttered.

Now that was just uncalled for.

"Oh," I said, my tone flat. "The orchestra." I still hadn't planned a means to tell Nero, but I had no choice other than to bite the bullet with Mom staring me down. "Nero, we were looking into a program for you… with other children."

With the way he looked to me, I might as well have tossed him in front of a train. "What?" he mouthed more than said.

Holding his gaze was a struggle for some reason. I felt driven to look off toward the corners of the room. "There's a children's orchestra in the city," I said. "You could join with your violin."

He was still so startled that he stood frozen, letting Mom cover him in bandages. "Does that sound interesting at all?" she asked. "I think you would have a lot of fun."

"I don't play good enough," he said, shaking his head. I wasn't sure where he'd gotten that idea. While he was not skilled by any means, he could certainly manage whatever basics such an orchestra might throw at him.

"All the kids will still be learning just like you," Mom said with a gentle smile. "He'll do fine, right Vergil?"

There was that stare again. "Yes." I felt like I was testing thin ice. "They play simple songs, Nero. Your practicing has gotten better. You'll do… well."

He gave me the same look he had that morning when I'd spoken well of him - confusion laced with concern. It seemed as though he didn't recognize me, and it felt like a damn knife to the gut.

But that was my own doing. There were few things I couldn't take the blame for these days.

That night, when I once again sat in the library trying to find some focus, the muffled sound of Nero sawing away at his violin played along the wall. I recognized the song as one of the more difficult pieces I'd given him. Impressive that I could recognize it at all. He was sharp again, though.

In the back of my mind, I considered what sword to train him on. He'd do best with a light weapon, but I knew better than to hope for that. He wouldn't want anything similar to mine. He'd want a longsword or a claymore like his uncle. Anything to distance himself from me. That was the pattern he'd developed as of late.

The violin halted, and I heard Mom's light voice from somewhere in the hall. The soft strum of a guitar followed her songbird tone. I hadn't heard that in some time.

"I didn't know you could play," Nero was saying as I slipped into the hall.

Mom laughed. "I'm pretty rusty, but I think it's more fun to play with other people. Let's see if I can get the hang of this again." She counted them off with hollow taps against the body of the guitar, and the song began with her relaxed, mellow tones followed by Nero's stuttering, sharp ones. He was playing far better than I'd ever heard.

Mom used to do the same for me when I struggled with a piece. The guitar tended to make for an awkward recreation of the sheet music, but she'd adjust as best she could so that I could follow along on the violin. When I learned to play more complex songs, she couldn't keep up with a guitar anymore, but I'd hear her humming along at parts that gave me trouble.

After listening to half the song, I soundlessly opened the door to my room and retrieved my own violin. Every piece of it shined with gloss. I hadn't touched it in a while, and it still looked as new as the day I'd gotten it.

When I hesitated outside of Nero's open door, I'd never felt so stupidly embarrassed in my life. The whole thing was absurd. It didn't matter, yet my heart was in my throat as I stepped into the room with as much purpose as I could muster.

Nero's spine shot rigid, his eyes wide with panic. He missed one note. Then the next. The song fell apart under his shaking hands like it always did when I stood nearby and listened.

Ah. So that was it then.

I shouldn't have come.

"Are you going to play with us?" Mom asked before I could attempt to slip back out. She grinned with such enthusiasm that I couldn't have dreamed of saying no.

"He'll be playing with others soon," I said, unable to look at either of them. "It would do him well to have some experience with it."

"He's doing pretty good at this one. I think he's almost got the hang of it."

I nodded. "Yes. He's doing quite well. I don't think I could play that song at his age."

The breath Nero released was audible, and a tinge of pink dusted his cheeks. "I'll get it," he mumbled as to be brought the bow back to the strings.

"Right," Mom said. "One more try then."

Settling the violin under my chin was such a familiar, comfortable gesture that the notes fell into place with ease after that. Nero still stumbled at times, too sharp, too fast, but we made it to the end together, the final note echoing in a matched chord.

Applause followed, making Nero jolt. "Very nice," Father said from his place in the doorway. "That's a charming song, and you play so well together."

"You should join us," Mom said.

"Oh, I don't believe I could drag the piano up here."

"No, but I might be able to drag these boys down to it."

She said that like there was any chance we could refuse.

I hadn't heard my parents play together in years. Mom would always sit on the top of the grand piano with her guitar despite Father's insistence that it wasn't good for his sound. Still, she remained there, humming along to the tune of whatever they played. Sometimes she would sing lyrics to songs we didn't know, entrancing even Dante to listen for once.

This time, she placed Nero at her side atop the piano, raising the music stand up for the two of them. I stood at Nero's other side. He didn't look as tense as before.

"Should I just make things up as I go?" Father asked, his smile matching Mom's.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out, dear."

The ceiling was too high, and we hadn't tuned for it. We all sounded off, too many string instruments echoing in the air. Nero was so lost in concentration that part of his tongue was sticking out. He missed notes now and again, and Father played a basic beat at our backs. It was a mess, awkward and uneven.

But it sounded nice somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is now 500x funnier to write after the trailer for 5. Good ol' AUs.


	5. And You Make it Shine on Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Vergil, you remember that one time you were a good parent for like five minutes?

****

Nero clung to his violin case with such a white-knuckled insistence that he struggled to undo his seatbelt around it. Other children with various black cases, some bigger than they were, hopped out of cars and strolled toward the front door of the well-worn building. A few rushed up to meet each other, chattering away.

Still unmoving in the backseat of my car, Nero's hands shook despite his grip on his violin. "Do you need me to go in with you?" I asked. Mom had suggested that this might be the case, but he shook his head.

His nerves must have infected me as my fingers began tapping along the edge of the steering wheel. This was awkward. Most of our drives were, like the first day we met and I drove for hours with a silent, wide-eyed five-year-old. The extent of our conversation for the majority of the trip was me asking him if he was alright and him nodding. Toward the end of the trip, he did stop staring out the window long enough to say, "Am I kidnapped?"

To which, I couldn't exactly say no.

He looked far more anxious now than he did back then. For an instant, I considered offering to take him back home, but Mom would have disowned me for the third time. She'd said to be encouraging. I could do that much. Surely.

"You're joining the session a bit behind," I admitted. Mom had gone through hell to get him into the group. No one could turn her down for long. "The other children may have their parts down better, so just keep that in mind if you feel you aren't doing as well. They've practiced more."

Nero blinked, then nodded. For such a chatty boy, there were times I couldn't get him to speak at all. When I reached out across the awkward angle, he leaned away like my hand might rear back and bite him at any moment. I couldn't help but let my even expression slip to a frown. "You'll do fine, Nero," I said, placing my hand to the top of his head. "Go on."

His eyes flashed from side to side, discomfort evident on his face. This was awkward.

It was a relief when one of his hands came unglued from the case to open the door. I pulled my hand back as he darted off without a word of goodbye. Like most things, that had gone about as poorly as expected. If it was any consolation, by the time Nero was inside, no one was around to see me smack my forehead to the steering wheel as I ground out a sigh.

Mom had assured me that everything would go well, but Nero was behind on the material in a swarm of children he'd never met. If he made some loud mistake or played too out of tune and the other kids turned on him… Well, my first concern would have been Nero's temper getting the better of him. My old violin wouldn't have come out of that unscathed. My greatest fear, though, was seeing him in the same state as he'd been in back at that damned orphanage.

I hadn't realized what I was getting into at the time.

"Why are we sitting here?" I'd demanded as Dante leaned back, his eyes distant, dazed.

"You really weren't paying attention." With a sigh, he scrubbed his hand across his face. "A few of their weird guards were hanging around. Knights, they call them." He snorted, but no amusement showed on his face. "We should wait to see if they'll move on before we try to get close again."

"I don't see the problem. If they get in our way, we move them." Sitting on a bench in the town square did nothing for us. We were far from the street with the boy on it, and all the parishioners darting around the church had a habit of peering out from under their hoods at us.

I hoped none of them recognized me because I felt sure I wouldn't recognize them. At some point, I was bound to run into the boy's mother, though, and that would be… something. She could have reacted in a myriad of ways, none of them being good.

"How about we don't hurt or kill anyone on the scary cult island?" Dante said. "We don't have a bunch of escape routes."

They were welcome to try and stop me, but I relented with a sharp click of my tongue. "What did you do to raise the alarm anyway?"

"Oh, that's…" His hands fiddled in his lap, and his gaze followed his drumming fingers to avoid having to look at me. "When I first saw the kid, I may have freaked out a little. The staff at the orphanage didn't like me much after that."

"Orphanage?" My eyes widened with the slow realization. The boy didn't even have a mother. He didn't have anyone. Abandoned by everyone, even me without realizing it. If no one else would look after him, then it had to be me. He was my blood, my responsibility.

I had a son.

Fuck.

"Yeah, what did you think the place was?" Dante said. "A daycare? I dunno. The whole thing looks pretty shady. I guess everything on this island does. Hey! Where do you think you're going?" He tried to grab for my wrist as I shot to my feet, but I evaded his grasp.

"I need to get a better look at that boy." Without waiting for him to follow, I started back toward the orphanage.

"Don't say it so creepy like that!" Dante howled at my back. "Hang on!"

I had a plan for my life laid out with fine precision. I knew how everything was supposed to go for the next five years - every accomplishment, every bill, every major purchase.

A child played no part in that. Perhaps someday I would have wanted an heir of some sort, but not now. My plans, my life, they were all falling to pieces around me like burning paper. I would have to rethink everything.

As I neared the orphanage, I heard children yelling, not in the usual obnoxious playful way. No, this was cruel, vicious. Shrieks cut the air. "Stop, stop!" one voice begged.

"He bit me!" another cried, shrill with fury.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

The rest joined in, all yelling over each other until I couldn't make sense of any of them. I would have expected someone else to step in, but it was only me when I reached the fence to find the same boy cowering in the same corner. A half-dozen children of various ages all stepped back at my arrival, forming a partial circle around the boy. That would have been enough to tell me that they'd been up to something troublesome, but then I looked to the boy.

Blood poured like a stripe of red paint from a cut above his eye. He held the eye shut and kept his arms up in a weak defense of his face. His arms had gotten the brunt of it. Warm red claw marks dragged down them, enough to break skin in some places. He was covered in dirt that stained his white hair a sandier color, and bruises littered his skin, more than even the clumsiest child should have had. New ones in deep violet stained his temple. Old yellow splotches covered his knees.

I hadn't seen it from a distance, but he was a wreck. All that tore my eyes from him was one of the other children dropping something to the ground that made the boy jolt. It was a stone the size of my fist.

My eyes must have been burning because fury sent my heart hammering in my chest. I could have torn the gate to shreds at that moment. As the children grew wide-eyed with panic and stumbled over each other in their rush to scatter, Dante's hand snapped to my shoulder.

"Calm the fuck down," he hissed. "What are you going to Trigger here? Over some kids?"

Not over  _some_ kids. Over  _my_ kid.

And he was mine. It was undeniable from so close. He looked more like Mom than me, I thought. His face was shaped the same. But those eyes - shining with fear at the realization that I was standing over him - those eyes were mine and Dante's and Father's.

I could see a sliver of demonic power flashing in the depths of those eyes as he scrambled to his feet and rushed away. Of course he wouldn't let me close. I must have been a demon in his eyes, and his instincts knew well enough to flee.

"There he goes again," Dante grumbled. "Neither of us are very good at making a first impression."

The boy had to reach up to his eye-level to grasp the doorknob that would allow him back inside. Wrenching the door open, he darted into the sun-bleached building and out of sight once more. I'd hoped to talk to him, even if such a young boy couldn't hold much of a conversation.

At least then I could have gotten his name.

The snarling voice of a young man dragged my attention across the yard. "Oh, there are two of you now," he said. I could only imagine that he worked there, his eyes dark with distrust.

"Just passing by," Dante said, wearing his usual grin.

"For the fifth time," the man drawled.

Before Dante could say anything else stupid, I cut in. "Why didn't you see fit to break up that fight? Things were clearly getting out of hand."

The man raised a brow. "Not that it's any of your business, but that kid brings it upon himself. He should know better. If that doesn't teach him to behave around the other kids, I don't know what will. He can't be reasoned with."

"Well, he's like two," Dante said.

I was fairly sure the boy was older than two, not that it mattered. Hearing that was enough. Any reservations I had vanished under the smothering weight of hatred for this damned place. He did not belong here. He was the blood of Sparda, my blood. And perhaps no child belonged there regardless.

As I turned and stalked to the front door of the building, Dante hissed air through his teeth in frustration. "Please don't do anything crazy here."

Strange to hear him tell me that instead of the other way around.

Through the front door, I found a woman sitting at a wide desk. Several of the same children from before scattered away from her like insects, though my son was not among them. While she was older than the man outside, she held the same irritated expression upon my arrival.

"I need to know about the boy with white hair," I said, matching her sharp gaze.

She looked me up and down with a quick flick of her eyes. "I'm sure you do, but that's not how things work around here."

"Oh boy, here we go," Dante sighed at my back.

He was welcome to shut up if he wasn't going to help. "Fine," I bit out, keeping my arms firm at my side. I did have Yamato with me, but she showed no concern. As I recalled, the Knights carried around swords, so she must have thought it normal, harmless. It was. For now.

"What is the adoption system like?" I asked, knowing I was in for pure hell. That sort of thing took time. I didn't care for waiting.

"Well, it's certainly a process," the woman said with a shrug. "But it doesn't matter to you. We don't allow outsiders to adopt our children."

Of course not.  _Of course._  I wasn't sure why I expected anything else from this fucking island.

As my grip on Yamato tightened enough to make my hand tremble, Dante put his arm out in front of me and stepped forward. "Well, of course the kids can't leave the island," he said in mock-sympathy. "We wouldn't want them to escape the cult."

The woman's eye twitched, and Dante leaned his forearm to the desk, a satisfied smirk on his face. "I'm the good cop here, ma'am, so you might want to play along with me."

Despite her scoff, he continued.

"Does this island not have a foster system? Seems like there are a lot of kids here."

"Of course we have a foster system," she said. Her manicured nails drummed at the desk's surface, the sound drilling at my skull. "But there aren't enough foster families for all the kids."

"A tight-knit community like this, and you don't have enough people to look after some kids?" Dante asked. The more pressing curiosity for me was the odd number of orphans. Fortuna was populated, but not that populated. I did wonder what had happened to their parents. "It seems a bit unreasonable to not allow outside adoptions if that's the case."

The woman didn't have an answer for that beyond a glare that undoubtedly sent children cowering. Unfazed, Dante pulled Ivory from his back and started to toy with the gun as though looking over a puzzle. His expression was calm, but the woman took notice, her back straightening. I could see her swallow her nerves.

"You should really reconsider that adoption rule," he said with indifference. "So-" His eyes flashed from the gun to her, and she flinched back. "-what can you tell me about that kid?"

Despite the fear that had frozen her fidgeting hand, she still had the room to narrow her eyes at us and hiss her words. "He's a little demon, never listens to anyone, always gets into fights. I suppose it's no wonder two like you are so interested in him."

"I'm flattered," Dante said, his grin not quite hiding the resentment in his eyes. "What about a name? Did you bother to let him have one?"

"Nero," she spat.

Nero, like the color or like the emperor? Either way, I found it an odd choice. Not a bad one necessarily, but I wasn't certain it fit the boy. Perhaps nothing would have. "My son, Nero," had an odd ring to it, but "my son" alone did as well.

"We'll be taking Nero off your hands then if you'd like to tell us where he is," Dante said. I blinked at him just as the woman did. While Dante wasn't the most lawful sort, I hadn't expected him to share my mindset in this. Kidnapping was a new low for Dante. He played along the casual, harmless side of lawlessness. I did not.

Perhaps he knew that I wouldn't be leaving without my son. He understood. That thought was enough to make me realize how much tension I'd held in my jaw, enough to make my head throb as I relaxed.

"You think I'm just going to let two violent, armed strangers walk out of here with a child?" the woman demanded.

I'd had quite enough of her. In two strides, I was at Dante's side, Yamato's grip in my hand. "Oh? You suddenly care about him?" I said. "Truthfully, I'm not so sure you'll miss him, but I can assure you that these 'violent, armed strangers' will take much better care of him than anyone on this damned island ever did."

She was silent. As her whole body shook, her eyes flickered toward the door. Not looking for a way out. No. She was waiting for someone to arrive.

"Dante, guard the door," I said.

"Can do." He saluted me with the barrel of his gun. "But make it quick. Those knight guys are annoying. The less I have to deal with, the better."

A long hall of doors like that of a hospital lay behind the desk. The whole building was pale as a ward too, strangely silent despite all the children we'd seen. As I passed by door after door, some part of me felt assured that he wasn't behind them. They all rattled with the arrival of the knights slamming through the front door.

"Hello again, boys," Dante crowed. "Let's not get hasty. I really hate having to play negotiator."

"Let her go," a man snarled. Dante must have had the woman posed as a hostage, not that he'd ever do anything to harm her. A good ruse but one that wouldn't last long.

"Give us a minute, and we'll be out of your hair," Dante said. "You do still owe me that nice fee for taking care of that big ugly thing hanging out near the castle, so that ought to cover whatever adoption fees there might be."

"What?" the knight barked.

That idiot hadn't even gotten his payment yet. Too late now.

My legs halted in front of the second-to-last door on the right, no different from any other. But that was it. He was there. I felt as though every nerve in my body was pulling me toward that room.

The doorknob held no shine, worn down from so many hands. Inside, the room looked like an under-furnished dorm. I didn't need to look to know that he was hiding under the bed. I just knew. Kneeling down, I found him there with a mask of anger settled over his features. Fear swam in the depths of his eyes.

"Nero," I said. "There's no need to be afraid. My name is Vergil. I'm... your father."

Well, no, it was wrong of me to call myself that. I was not his father and never had been. The word was bitter against my tongue. He must have thought the same because he didn't move, cheek still pressed to the linoleum.

"Nero," I attempted again, reaching my hand toward him. His small teeth may as well have been needles for the way they sank into my fingers. Surprise drew a sound of confusion from me. The boy bit me. He  _bit_ me.

Not hard, though.

Though I felt like I should have been, I wasn't bleeding. He just held my fingers in his teeth like a stubborn dog. I did my best not to think about all the germs involved. "Could you let go?" I asked. "I won't hurt you. I'm not angry. I understand that you're scared."

My time was limited, so if I didn't coax him out within the next few seconds, I would have to drag him out. With some hesitation, he loosened his jaw and allowed me to pull my hand out of range of his teeth. I still offered my hand to him, reached partway way under the thin-framed bed.

"I understand your fear," I said as I searched for some understanding in his steeled gaze. "I am a stranger to you, and I'm certain you can sense some dark power from me that makes you wish to hide, but I am your father, and I aim to take you to a better life where no one will harm you. I will take you home, Nero. I will keep you safe."

He looked to my hand, then back to me. "Go home? Safe?" His voice was as thin and soft as a whimper.

"Yes. You don't have to be here any longer."

His hand was so small, so thin. For a moment, I feared he might shatter in my grasp if I were to take hold of him. Every piece of him trembled as the tips of his fingers came to rest against mine.

Fortuna still had a warrant out for both me and Dante. That much I knew. What I didn't know was whether they'd ever bothered to do anything about it. I doubted it. They'd never cared about Nero. For all their praise of Sparda, they'd been so blind as to neglect his grandson. I would never forgive them for that. If they ever did decide to send someone after us for kidnapping, I would have been happy to face them.

Not that I was handling Nero much better.

At present, I had no choice but to wait and hope the children in the orchestra weren't backing him into any corners. Surely whoever ran the thing was better with children than everyone in Fortuna's orphanage.

The lesson wasn't long enough to warrant driving all the way back out of the city and returning, so I'd taken up residence in a coffee shop with a book to pass the time. The coffee was far too sweet. Dante might have liked it. Regardless, I sipped at it long after it had gone cold.

With my inconsistent work schedule, I would rarely be the one dropping Nero off and picking him up. I did have a job coming up. Mom should have taken over full responsibility for it, considering Father couldn't drive without causing mass chaos, but she'd been quick to volunteer Dante for the task as well. "I can give him gas money," she said, beaming at her own scheme.

"I could take Nero," Father offered, but we both stared at him until he laughed. "Right, I suppose not."

I hoped my violin didn't end up on a motorcycle or anywhere near Father's idea of transportation.

The hands of the clock dragged along until I was able to shut my book and return to the pickup point. Nero stood out in a crowd like the rest of his family. Despite being shorter than most of the other kids, his white hair gleamed in the sun, and I found him in an instant. He stood beside another child who wore the hood of their jacket up. I couldn't see much of them, not that it mattered. Nero had my full attention then. A smile had spread across his face, so wide his cheeks must have been aching. He was laughing about something so hard that his eyes were clenched shut.

He looked so different when he smiled. My chest felt hollow with what I refused to accept as jealousy. The mere thought was utter foolishness.

When Nero noticed my car, he left his companion with an apologetic smile and a wave. The smile hadn't left his face by the time he hopped into the back seat. "Did it go well?" I asked.

"Yeah!" The way he lit up brought stars to his eyes. "Everyone thought I was real good. The songs are easy! I can do 'em all."

I nodded and shifted the car back into drive, unsure how to respond. "Did you get along well with the other kids?" I asked in place of an answer.

"Yeah, they're nice, and I met a boy who's like me!"

My brow furrowed. I was unsure how to take that. "Like you?"

"Yeah, his hair is all white!"

"Ah, he must have albinism."

"Is that what we have?"

"Not quite. Albinism isn't really genetic. Our appearance comes from Father and our demonic blood. That boy was just born with an absence of melanin. It's a mutation of sorts, and that's not how..." When I glanced in the rearview mirror, I found him staring outside at the passing sights, paying me no mind. A hint of a smile still pulled at his lips, so I decided to leave him to his thoughts.

Seeing him so happy was a nice change of pace.

When we returned home, Nero rushed to the kitchen to tackle Mom in a hug. Between his eager, rambling tales, Mom flooded him with questions. He talked of the songs he'd played and the strange instruments he'd seen. "Everyone was out of tune!" he said with such joy that I wasn't sure what to think.

Father appeared from nowhere as usual and was quickly enthralled with the tale as well, especially when Nero mentioned his white-haired friend. "He plays trumpet!" Nero said. "He's real loud." Whether he was loud on his instrument, in person or both was left up in the air.

"So you made a friend," Father said. "That's wonderful."

"I dunno if we're friends. But he's nice."

Father laughed. "Then I hope you'll become friends."

"Oh!" Nero's eyes went wide with a sudden recollection, and he looked up to me from behind his curtain of bangs. The usual anxiety marred his expression once more. "Can I go outside?"

I found it an odd request for the time of day. He always went out early or after lunch, never so late. "For a bit," I conceded with a nod. "You know you have to be back before nightfall."

"Be back before the sun has set," Mom clarified with a wag of her finger. "I'll have dinner on the table, and you'd better be all washed up and ready to eat."

"I see no trouble," Father said. "But do be careful as the light grows dim. Why do you wish to go out now, little one?"

As though a cord had bound him, Nero pressed in on himself, drawing his arms close and ducking his head. "Promised to tell J 'bout orchestra," he said. Every time his fearful eyes flicked to me, I felt like I was being stabbed in the chest.

I did my best to pretend that my hearing had stopped working and let my gaze wander the room. "Have fun," Father said, and Nero was off like a starting gun had fired. His steps rushed back to the living room only to find some hesitation, slowing to a tiptoe before the front door slipped open and shut.

He was bound to be doing something I wouldn't like. He always was, but I couldn't bring myself to check after him and ruin his good day. Not again. I'd done that enough.

Though I had imagined myself finishing my book, Mom handed me a wooden spoon and a pan before I could slink off to the library. "Really? After all the fires I've set?" I said.

"Not as many as your brother. No complaining. It's not a hard recipe."

It wasn't, and time passed quickly while cooking. When we were almost done, I found Mom staring at the clock. "He's not back yet," she said.

I looked out the window. The last rays of sunlight painted the horizon in molten orange hues. The sun hadn't set yet. Not quite.

I tried to set the table, something mindless to keep me distracted for just a few seconds longer, but I kept looking back toward the windows.

Night fell.

Nero did not return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting to the good stuff hehe.


	6. Everybody Knows the Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kind of bad because everyone had such exciting ideas about what happened to Nero.  
> Sorry, it's not that bad, actually.  
> But then again... I guess it's worse.

The air smelled sharp with stress, a mix like sweat and steel.

Something was wrong.

Vergil so rarely let his demonic side get the better of him, but it was in a frenzy then, a beast clawing through the bars of its cage. When I slipped downstairs, I found a frantic conversation and no sign of Nero.

My grandson always smelled of decaying leaves and damp earth when he returned home these days. During the summer, he smelled of grass, and in spring of pollen. It always had me sneezing.

Despite the black wall of night behind the lace curtains, Nero's coat was still gone from the rack. No muddy shoes beside the door.

"Is Nero not back?" I asked as Vergil stormed into the living room, as though I didn't already know the answer.

"I'm going out," was all he said. The glare he threw my way answered the rest, especially with the worry burning beneath his anger. When he raised his hand, Yamato flashed into his grasp from across the room. It never used to listen to me that well.

"Don't be too hard on him, Vergil," Eva said as she trailed after him. "It could be an honest mistake. It must be… Just don't be too hard on him." I followed as well, none of us bothering to grab our coats. Nero was often late, but not at night

I did not like for my children to be out after dark. My sons would push the limits of the rule. I often had to go out to retrieve them so Eva could scold them. The trouble with the night was twofold. First, demons tended to prefer it. We liked the cover of darkness, the chill in the air, and the sleeping prey. Second, we could see, and humans could not.

Eva squinted into the woods in search of some sign of Nero. Night was the only time I could see. Bright lights made my vision hazy, a mess of overexposed blurs. My sons seemed to be able to move between night and day with ease. The moon worked just as well as a sun for them. When it came to Nero's sight, however, I remained uncertain.

I'd seen him creep down the stairs at night, trying to avoid detection as he went to steal from the kitchen. He always clung tight to the banister, his steps slow and careful. But I could never tell whether that was from blindness or fear of the dark. I never wished to startle him by asking, though I think he knew that I was there somewhere. His eyes would narrow as he searched the living room below.

"Perhaps he just got a little lost," I offered, placing a hand to Eva's shoulder. "Vergil and I will look for him. You should remain here in case he returns."

She knew it was really for her own safety as much as anything. I could tell from the way she heaved a sigh, and she certainly would have argued had it not been wise for someone to remain behind. "Alright, but be careful," she said. "I'm sure he's fine. I'm sure it's nothing." The lie was not enough to keep her from wringing her hands.

Vergil started to leave, but I caught him by the wrist. "Check along the creek if you would," I said. "My senses get foggy there." That wasn't entirely true, and I could tell by the way he raised a brow that he realized it.

"You can't just sense where Nero is?" he asked.

"No, not from this far away." That much was true. "I can track his trail, but it would be wise to have you go on ahead in case he's gotten that far."

Though a thread of distrust remained in Vergil's eyes, he nodded and warped away in a whisper of leaves. A neat trick. I would have to work quickly to keep my promise.

I had a guess as to where Nero could be, and the start of Nero's footprints through the soft bed of leaves did lead off to the same place as always. I felt no demonic power, nothing malicious or dark, no bloodlust in the air. I could smell no demons either, only small animals that had remained through winter.

Upon request, Nero had revealed his hiding spot to me. It was little more than a clearing with a fallen log. At the time, it had been summer, and the area still burned with the greenish hue of sunlight through leaves. With the tall trees surrounding it in an uneven circle, I understood why a child might find it enchanting. It seemed closed off from everything else.

"Promise not to tell anybody," Nero said, his hands in fists down at his side. "Promise, Nonno."

"Of course, little one." Placing my hand to my heart, I gave a small bow. "I promise. I only wished to know where you go in case I needed to come find you if I were to sense some trouble nearby. But tell me, why is this a secret?"

He settled into a pout, his shoulder scrunched up by his ears. "Father doesn't like J, and Evie doesn't like me to go out far away."

It was quite a walk, but it was still within my range. I saw no harm. "And you meet your friend here?" I asked.

Like the flick of a switch, a grin brightened his face. "Yeah, J's always here!"

"Are they here now?"

As I glanced around, Nero shook his head. "They're shy. Don't like new people."

"I see. Understandable. For my own curiosity's sake, what does your friend look like then?" Eva had explained that children having these made-up friends was normal, and while I did find it odd, Nero was so invested in the idea that I saw no reason not to go along with him. Perhaps there was a friend in his mind.

"They're like this high." Nero raised his hand close to the same level of his own height. "And they got blue eyes like yours." And like his. "And white hair."

"They… look like you?" I prompted.

Another grin broke across his face, pure, unrestrained joy that I so rarely saw from him. "Yeah! Never had a friend that look like me. They got long hair though."

"I see, so you have a twin then."

"Nah, they don't look like me."

Right. Of course not. The contradiction seemed to fly over his head, and I couldn't help but smile. "Still, it must be nice having a friend who matches you a bit."

"Yeah." But his smile faltered and fell. "Nobody else does."

I'd suspected as much. "Do you like the way you look, Nero?" An odd question, perhaps, but both Vergil and Dante had disliked their hair as children. They often requested a change, which Eva would allow, but the colors refused to stay. I never thought they looked right regardless.

Seeing Nero shake his head wasn't surprising, but it did bring a troubling pain to my chest like when my sons would say the same. That was the problem with my blood. "Nobody else got dumb white hair," he said, his expression heavy with worry as he tugged at his bangs. "Just me and J. Don't like it."

As I picked him up, he gave one of his usual little growls but allowed me to settle him onto my shoulder. "I suppose I've always liked to be flashy," I said. "I believe my sons grew into it as well, Dante more so. We're like… songbirds, I think."

"Songbirds?" He rested his elbow atop my head, his knuckles against his cheek. "That's weird, Nonno. Just Uncle Dante sings, and it's bad."

A laugh broke from me before I could stifle it with my hand. "I don't mean the singing as much, though Dante certainly can wake up a neighborhood. I mean the colors. We're awfully bright. Stand out among the trees, so everyone can see. You're perhaps the most like a songbird because you do like to sit in trees."

"Like to climb," he agreed, nodding along. "Don't think I'm a bird. White's not colorful, Nonno."

"White is all the colors."

From what I could see of his expression, he was stumped by that one. "Well, white's dumb. Kids at the house said so, and blood makes it all red. Look really dumb like that," he huffed.

He must have meant the orphanage, that vile place. Without thought, I wrapped an arm around him as though it might protect him from his memories of the place. Ideally, he would forget with time. "Remember," I said, "if anyone ever tries to hurt you, you can run to us, and we will protect you. Any adult should." But I could not promise that. "If you cannot run, call for help. Fight back if you must."

He nodded. "Knights told us that 'bout the demons."

"It applies for humans as well. Not all are good." But I had a feeling that he knew that. "Have you encountered a demon before?" He looked down at me in confusion. "Have you seen a demon?" I clarified.

With a smack, his hand connected with my cheek. "Seen you, Nonno."

"Any others?" I chuckled.

"Seen some in Fortuna. Don't like 'em. They looked at me." He clutched at the arm I had around him. "Knights got 'em though. I like the Knights."

"Really?" I hadn't known he'd liked anything about Fortuna. I didn't. But I did appreciate that the Holy Knights had done well enough to defend Nero from the demons. If nothing else, they could kill demons well.

"Yeah, they're nice," Nero said, but his eyes wandered with the usual sign that he'd grown bored of the conversation, and he set to wiggling so that I would let him down. "Do you wanna see some cool bugs, Nonno?"

"Certainly. Just don't take them home." Vergil had liked collecting insects as a child, which had just about driven Eva to tears after he dumped them on our bed to show her.

Once I set Nero down, he darted over to the fallen log and pushed with all his small child might. It rolled, revealing black soil beneath and a host of insects in all forms. "Are bugs your friends, Nonno?" he asked.

I thought I'd grown quite tired of the joke, but I found myself laughing at how serious he looked. "Well, I suppose we're not enemies."

The forest wasn't so green anymore. I doubted he would have found many insects with the air so thin and sharp from the chill. My every step seemed to shatter the silence.

That same silence made the first sob reach my ears like an explosion. I was still far from the clearing, but I could hear him there, gasping for breath between cries that drowned me in terror and agony.

I was in front of him in an instant, the leaves whirling around me at the disturbance. His pale eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight as they shot to me, wide with fear. Tears had stained his cheeks, and he hugged something to his chest that I could not recognize.

The air smelled warm with his blood.

"It was a accident!" Nero gasped before I could do anything. Alongside his frantic words, he rocked himself back and forth. "Didn't mean to. Didn't mean it. Just a accident."

"Relax, dear child," I said, kneeling in front of him. As I reached for him, he shrank back. His hands tightened around the odd, splintered thing in his arms, and the smell of blood worsened like an ever-growing fire. I needed to get his hands away from whatever it was - fragments of wood, perhaps - before he harmed himself further.

Before he could back away, I captured him in my arms and cradled him to my chest. "Let's get you home, little one. It will be alright."

I must have said the wrong thing because he drew in a whimpering gasp. His breaths grew more frantic. "No, no, no, Father'll be- He'll be mad. He'll be so mad. Can't- Can't go home. No, no, no. I can't-" His words fell to sobs, impossible to understand.

I felt sick with helplessness. All I could think to do was hold him close, my cheek pressed to the top of his head. No matter how I tried to hush him, he just cried. At the very least, I was able to pull one of his hands free. Slick, warm blood met my fingertips as I touched his palm.

From beneath it, I found the unbroken bits of wood flat with a polished gleam. Cords held some fragments together, and the realization sank in like poison. It was his violin. Vergil had given it to him not long after Nero came to live with us. The violin had been Vergil's since childhood and Eva's before that.

I could recall the way Vergil stood over Nero and made his son promise a dozen times to be careful with it.

Though I couldn't imagine why Nero might have brought it outside, I dared not ask. Given his state, I doubted I would be able to understand an answer anyway. "It was an accident," I agreed for the time being. "Breathe easy. I'll stay with you, but we must go home. Eva and your father are worried. Please, hold onto my shirt for now. I don't wish for you to hurt your hands more, little one."

He was able to do that much, but I could feel the way his hands shook as blood soaked my shirt. Though sobs still rattled him, he didn't say anything as I rose to my feet and started back toward the house. I didn't wish to go too fast. I wanted to give him time to calm himself.

But I was so focused on him that I didn't notice Vergil's approach until he snapped into place in front of me. My heels dug in to keep from slamming headlong into him. Under a pinched brow, his eyes caught sight of the blood first. "What happened?" he asked, his voice firm. Before I could answer, though, his gaze shot down to the violin still in pieces against Nero's chest. Unease rolled in my gut as Vergil's expression grew dark with a veil of controlled rage.

He was lying. Nothing about it was controlled.

"What happened?" he asked again, anger dripping from his tone.

Nero's shaking became a violent tremble that made him difficult to hold. He curled himself closer to me as his breaths became sharp. "Nero," I attempted, but a snarl drowned me out.

"Nero. What did you do?"

"Accident. An accident," Nero whimpered against my chest. His words were so muffled that I was shocked when Vergil understood.

"An accident!?" he roared. "Why would you bring it outside in the first place? What is wrong with you?"

Something flickered inside me. Anger, I realized. How strange. Anger toward my own son. I'd never felt it quite like that before. Never quite so bitter. "Vergil," I said, but he spoke over me once again.

"Stop defending him! He knows better!"

For eyes filled with tears, Nero's looked empty, distressingly so. "J- J said-"

Vergil growled, an honest, demonic growl that made the thorn of anger in me twist. "I've heard enough of that," he said. Though he was no longer shouting, demonic power rolled off of him in waves. Nero's breathing sounded wrong, thin with a weak desperation. His heart beat so rapidly that it pulsed against my ear like hummingbird wings. "How could you be so deliberately stupid? Why can't you ever do anything right? I just don't understand how-"

"Vergil. Enough." My anger burned so black that it made me feel sick. I would never have wished to harm my son, but I wanted to break someone in that moment. The way Nero grew heavier in my arms kept me grounded enough that I realized he was starting to go limp. His eyelids fluttered, and his breaths sounded as though they'd been twisted.

Something was wrong.

_Something was wrong._

"Nero?" I called, worry drowning my anger in an instant. Dropping to my knees once again, I pulled him more upright and cradled his head to the crook of my next. "Relax, little one. I've got you. I won't…"

I won't let him hurt you. I bit my lip to keep from saying it.

Vergil took a slow step back. Though he stared at Nero, he seemed to see nothing. "He's hyperventilating," Vergil murmured, stepping back again. "Steady his breathing. I need to... I..." He didn't seem to notice when his back hit a tree, and in a blink, he was gone again. The leaves hissed at his disappearance.

Nero drew in a ragged gasp, and I understood. I didn't like it, but I understood. "Breathe, dear child," I said as soothingly as my worry would allow. "With me, if you can." Taking his limp hand, I brought it back to my chest so he might feel the rise and fall. His attempts at deeper breaths were so strangled that they sounded like they were tearing him apart.

"Don't force it," I said, hoping I was doing something right. "Try to let yourself relax. Pain seems to last an eternity, but it will pass." Though I tried to smile, I couldn't manage it. "Humans are such emotional creatures, and I've always found that so endearing, but some emotions seem to crush you, fragile as you are. And yet, I'm always amazed by how resilient you are. You are strong, my little Nero, and this shall pass, so let yourself cry, but let yourself breathe too. This is not the end, no matter how much it may seem to be."

He may not have understood me. He may not have heard a word of it. I wasn't certain, but I kept speaking just so that he would know that I was there. As time dragged along, his breathing slowed until it was sluggish with sleep. With that, I stood again. He dozed against me the rest of the way home. He must have exhausted himself, and I was content to let him rest for a time.

The light by the front door cast Eva in a warm glow despite how she clutched her arms and shivered. She once again squinted into the darkness as I neared. "Sparda?" she called.

"It's me. I've got him."

Exasperated, she dropped her face into her hands. "What's going on? Vergil just stormed past me and locked himself in his room like he's a teenager again. Is Nero alright?"

"He's resting now. He is… upset, and he cut up his hands some."

We must have drawn close enough for her to see because her eyes found the fragments of the violin still lying atop him. "What happened to it?" she asked, a note of sadness in her voice.

"I believe he took it to show his friend, and there was an accident." That was as much as I'd been able to gather. Eva made a soft noise that could have been confusion or understanding. Once we were inside, she retrieved the first aid kit and set to work with a sterilized needle, plucking some stray splinters from Nero's hands with deft flicks of her wrist. He didn't wake until she poured the peroxide over the wounds. A flinch brought him back to consciousness.

As he found focus again, his red-rimmed eyes filled with tears at the sight of her. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse. I had to fight the urge to pull him closer again while she bandaged his hands.

I found her blinking back tears as well as she breathed a quiet sigh through her nose. Looking away from his hands, she stared at the remains of the old instrument laid out against the coffee table. "I am sad that it's broken," she said. "You shouldn't take such fragile things outside with you, but I'm sadder that you did this to your hands and that you were too scared to come home. We were very worried, Nero. We were going to be upset about the violin, of course, but I understand that it was an accident. I'm not angry. I hope you learn from this. It may be some time before you get another violin, and so you might not be able to go back to the orchestra for a while."

The realization sent the tears spilling from his eyes. He looked utterly heartbroken, and I hated that I could think of no way to comfort him. He'd been so happy about the orchestra just a few hours before. It seemed wrong to take it from him.

He swallowed before trying to find some stability in his voice. A stutter hooked against every word. "J… J asked me to play for them. I said I shouldn't, but… But J wanted to hold the violin, and they broke it."

Eva's sigh was more audible this time. "Now, Nero," she said, sounding exhausted. "We both know that's not true."

"What?"

"J isn't real. You can't blame this on them."

The tears stopped. Nero just stared like an eerie doll as Eva finished dressing his wounds. "Are you hungry?" she asked, but he shook his head. "Are you sure? We've still got dinner."

Again, he shook his head. "Can I go to my room?" he asked in an empty voice I'd never heard from him before.

"If… if you want. Are you sure you don't…?"

Nero slipped away and walked to the stairs. His eyes remained forward. I heard him close his door behind him, and then the house fell to an icy silence.

I couldn't say how long it lasted before Eva quite literally grabbed my attention, yanking me toward her with a hand against my collar. Her sorrow had turned to suspicion. "What happened?"

"Ah." I couldn't meet her eyes. "That's…"

I'd never seen anything more terrifying than my wife when she was angry. She could always tell when I lied too, so there was no softening my recounting of events. With each passing second, her quiet rage grew like she was sharpening a knife somewhere behind those burning eyes. In the end, she hissed a long, harsh sigh through her teeth.

"No," she said, clapping her hands once. I was uncertain whom she was talking to. Her eyes weren't focused on anything. "I'm not having it. They're going to work this out."

"Perhaps tonight we should just let it lie," I said. The idea of dragging them both out of their rooms sounded like a death sentence.

"You think so?" She still wasn't looking at anything. "Yeah, you know? You're right."

"Really?" Since when?

"Vergil's going to figure this one out on his own, or so help me, I might just kill him myself."

"Please don't."

"Yeah, let them sulk." She bit off the end of each word. "Things are just going to have to be hell for a few days before they figure it out because I've had enough of it!"

"They're going to be hell?" I echoed.

Her eyes finally snapped to meet mine, but it wasn't particularly comforting. "You'll see."

I had lived in Hell, actually. I knew what Hell was.

This was worse somehow.

Besides me, the only one who would talk was Eva, and she always sounded so forcibly polite that I feared she might actually kill one of us at any moment. "This is nice," she said. "We're having dinner together, and it's so nice, and we can just talk about anything."

Both Vergil and Nero stared down their food. I didn't believe they'd looked at each other a single time in three days. I would have been impressed if I weren't so exhausted. "It's very nice," I agreed just to have some sort of conversation.

I'd heard Eva give in and try to reason with Vergil once behind a closed door, but it had ended with the two of them more frustrated than before. Eva was usually the one who could talk him down, so I knew we were in trouble if she'd failed. Behind her forced smile, I could see how broken-up she was about the whole thing. Neither Vergil nor Nero would speak to her. More than once, I'd watched her sink down on our bed, her face in her hands. "I don't understand," she whispered. "I just don't understand."

All I could do was sit down at her side and draw her to my chest because I didn't understand either. It was one thing for them to be angry with each other or even me, but it was another thing for them to be angry with her.

In all my years of fighting, I didn't think I'd ever been so stressed as being caught in the silent battle that waged in that house. No one gave an inch.

Vergil only left his room when forced to come down to dinner, and Nero ate almost nothing when dragged downstairs for meals. The only time I heard Nero speak was when he asked to go outside. Each time, Eva would remind him that he was grounded until next week. He would say nothing more until he asked again the next day.

After he asked on the fourth day, my curiosity got the better of me, and I followed him up to his room to find him scribbling in one of the massive workbooks. Looked like math. "Nero," I said, not expecting an answer. "Why do you keep asking to go outside?"

He chewed at the end of his pencil, which was already covered in bite marks. Just as I felt assured he was ignoring me, he answered. "J's mad."

"Oh? This friend of yours seems like a bit of a troublemaker. Why do you think they're mad at you?"

He must have been stuck on a problem because he began tapping the tip of the pencil against the page with a repeated insistence. "Didn't tell them I'll be gone so long, and they miss me."

"Are you not mad at them for breaking your violin?"

The tapping stopped, and his brow furrowed before he finally looked at me. "You think they're real?"

The realization struck me that perhaps he was upset because no one would listen to him about his friend. I felt quite the fool for not noticing sooner. "I believe that you think they are real," I said, "and that is enough for me." It wasn't imaginary to him, so I had to lend the idea some respect.

My answer made Nero quirk a brow and chew on his pencil some more. Frowning, he turned to look out his bedroom window. "J's my only friend," he said, "and J tells me I'm good at stuff. They're really nice. I'm mad 'cause of the violin, but I still wanna be friends. J said they were sorry."

With a nod, I reached down to pat him on the head. He allowed it, and I found myself able to relax for the first time in days. "Well, I think that we are also friends, little one," I said, "so you can count two at least."

His smile was little more than a tug at the corner of his lips, but it was something. It was the first hope I'd had that things could go back to normal. Well, normal for us at least.

That night, I found that Eva had concocted her own idea. In the middle of brushing her teeth, she turned to me and said, "I think we should invite Dante over to liven things up."

"Things seem plenty lively to me," I muttered.

"Nero likes to talk to his uncle," she continued, waving me down. "Don't think about Vergil right now. One at a time. At first, I was worried having Dante over would be a problem because he and Vergil might kill each other, but I'm up for anything at this point."

"Including Dante and Vergil killing each other?"

She shrugged. "Better than nothing. I'm willing to give it a shot, and he's bound to come over if I pay him in food."

"Well, it would be nice to see him again," I said. "It's been a while, and we left on such poor terms last time."

"Great!" She smiled genuinely for the first time as she snagged the phone from the cradle. For some reason, though, it ended up in my hand. "He knows something is up when it's me," she said as she pushed my hand up toward my ear.

It was awfully late, I thought, so I didn't expect him to answer. Hearing his voice was a nice surprise, even if it was garbled around what sounded like a mouthful of food. "Yeah?" he said.

"My son!" How nice to hear from at least one of them. "I have missed you."

After an odd choking noise, he coughed a few times away from the receiver before returning. "Oh jeez, Dad, who let you use the phone?"

"Your mother put the number in for me." She gave me a look that suggested I shouldn't have said that.

"Of course she did," Dante sighed. "So what's her plan this time?"

"We have an important task for you. Eva says we will pay you in food."

He hummed as though in thought but wasted no time answering. "Well, I can't say no to that. What's the job?"

That was a good question. I had to consider it for a moment. "We need for you to make the house less quiet," I decided.

"I'm sorry?"

Before I could begin to clarify, Eva snatched the phone away. "Hi, Dante," she began. "Vergil and Nero got into a bit of a fight- No, hush. Let me finish. I don't want any more fights. I just want for you to come and try to talk to Nero a bit, try to cheer him up. Vergil is a separate issue. There's not much we can do there until he decides to stop pouting." Her eyes dimmed to annoyance. "No, you're not shoving your sword anywhere. If you so much as bring that oversized hunk of metal, I'm not letting you in for pancakes. Yes, pancakes. I know." A smile graced her features once more, and she looked to me with a wink. It seemed she'd snagged him. "Alright, but you'll have to get here early. I know, it's terrible. I'm the worst."

If Dante were coming, I saw no reason not to tell Nero. He always lit up when he learned that his uncle would visit. Anything that might make Nero happy seemed worthwhile. As for Vergil, well… I just didn't know.

When I reached Nero's room, I expected him to be asleep, but I could hear him whispering too softly for me to make out any words. Whatever he was saying, it ended when I knocked. He was polite enough to let me come in, and I found him sitting across the room, his back to the wall. With his legs pulled up to him, he rested his chin on his knees. He looked troubled.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

He glanced up toward the window with a sigh. "J's sad 'cause I haven't gone outside."

"Ah, is that who you were talking to?" Stepping into the room, I went over and picked him up from the floor. He pouted at this, hanging limp in my arms like a sack of sand.

"I told 'em I'm not allowed, and they're sad. I don't want 'em to be mad at me. Don't want 'em to be mad at no one. I… I didn't mean it, okay? Jus' wanna be friends."

Either he was paler than normal or the color under his eyes had turned a deep shade of purple in contrast. "Get some rest," I said as I settled him in bed. "It will work out. If they're your friend, they will understand. But I do have some good news. Dante is coming to visit."

His tired eyes found some light at that. "Uncle Dante's gonna be here?"

"Yes, so you should sleep, so you'll have the energy to keep up with him." I placed a kiss to his forehead that brought all the color back to his face and then some. "Goodnight, little one."

In response, he pulled the blankets over his head and grumbled until I left him. I would have been lying if I'd said I felt bad about it.

I could sleep if I wanted to, and I often did at Eva's side to keep her company. Unlike my family, however, I didn't require sleep. My body needed rest at times but not unconsciousness unless I were truly damaged. I didn't care much for being awake while everyone else slept, but I couldn't seem to grasp sleep that night. Something felt… off, unexplainably so.

Drifting from my room, I checked outside. No demons were nearby. I felt certain of that, but the forest was so quiet.

So quiet.

My anxiety seemed unfounded because I could find nothing amiss. Perhaps Dante could have helped me skim the area in the morning after he'd eaten his weight in pancakes. Even if we didn't find anything, it would give me some peace.

Back inside, I closed my eyes and listened for the soft, steady breathing and firm heartbeats of my family. I breathed along, relaxing to the sounds, but one was out of place. I decided to seek it out.

"You should rest," I said as I leaned against the library doorframe. I didn't expect an answer, yet for the third time that day, I received one.

"Perhaps, but I can't bring myself to." Vergil's eyes were so heavy that it was a wonder he kept them open at all. In his hands was some old tome that looked like it could fall to dust at any moment. It couldn't have been an interesting read.

"Are you still angry?" I asked. "I think it would be better if we let this one go."

His face screwed up as he rubbed his hand across his eyes. "Are you asking about the violin? No, I'm not angry about it anymore," he said. "I haven't been angry for some time. It was just an object." Letting the book collapse in his lap, he leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Sentimentality doesn't matter in the end. I'm more upset that Nero would lie to me, but even that… No, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I could scare him to such a degree that he would have a panic attack." A bitter laugh escaped him, and he tossed his arm over his eyes. "He is afraid of me, my own son. He can't even stand near me without cowering. I am an utter failure at something that billions can manage. Dante was right. I am a useless parent. Actually, I might be worse than that."

I had a feeling he hadn't slept in days. The exhaustion must have been getting to him if he were willing to tell me so much. "As you'll recall, I was also a terrible parent," I offered.

"You're a demon. It hardly counts, and even then, I wasn't afraid of you. I never hated you, not really."

His words lit a flicker of surprise and happiness in me. Things were not as bad as I'd thought. Vergil wasn't unreasonable. He was just wallowing in guilt. Talking to him was Eva's skill more so than mine, but I felt I understood him at that moment.

"Do you think that Nero would have been better without you?" I asked. "Better left at that orphanage?"

He let his arm fall away, every ounce of agony laid bare in his expression. "Just because I could give him a better life than that hellhole does not mean I could give him the life he deserved."

Yes, I knew that mindset well. "Then please believe me when I say that your mother and I thought the same for you and your brother," I said. "How many times did demons slip by while I was away? Every time we would wonder if the two of you would have been better off with a normal family." I'd never admitted it to either of them, and Vergil wore his surprise openly as he turned to look at me.

"We never knew what we were doing," I continued. "We made many mistakes, and I believe the truth is that every parent does. Perhaps you and I make more than most, but we must learn from them and move on. You and Nero both made a mistake the other night. Apologize to him. Let him know that you misspoke in anger and that you'll be more careful from now on. No one is perfect, and children understand that."

"Maybe," he murmured, chewing on the thought. "Maybe. I'll think on it."

"You'd be better off sleeping on it." Though I didn't have enough of a death wish to pick him up and carry him to bed, I did step forward to kiss his forehead just as I had Nero. And just like Nero, he turned so red that he could have matched Dante's coat.

"Father," he hissed. "I am not a child."

"You'll always be a child to me, Son."

Had he been less exhausted, I doubted I would have escaped with all my limbs intact. I hoped that our talk might quell my nerves and that I might be able to find sleep. Still, it eluded me.

My head ached for some reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I think "imagined" and "imaginary" can mean very different things given context.  
> Also, good news, Dante's coming back.  
> Perfect timing.  
> My rsvp list says someone else is on the way too.


	7. Well I Don't, And I Never Did

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone got the answer.  
> I mean, they still made it sound way cooler than the truth haha.  
> But someone got the answer.

No ethical person would have made me wake up and drive at ass o'clock in the morning. But this was my mom, and she did make great pancakes.

The air was bitter cold that morning. The heat from my running bike created a small cloud, and the first snow of the season had started falling. Everything outside looked like it was covered in a puffy layer of bubble bath. The trees around the house weren't so naked anymore. If the kid wasn't already awake and begging to go out in the snow, he would be as soon as I got there.

My whole trip was blinding white alongside the shades of gray in the sky, so splashes of black and pale blue were quick to catch my eye. They dotted the yard in front of the house, clashing with the snow that had blanketed the place. As I drew closer, more fragments of color came into view along with a clearer shape.

My tires ripped through the dirt as I skidded to a halt. At first, that was all I could think to do. Questions buzzed through my head, namely, what the fuck?

The front yard was covered in dead birds. There must have been hundreds of them, none any bigger than my hand. They all lay limp, some with their wings outstretched. When the wind picked up, feathers drifted along with the snow.

"Fuck," I hissed, shutting off my bike and racing to the house. "Fuck fuck fuck." Besides my cursing, the forest was so damn quiet that I could have been the last one left alive in the damn place.

I better not have been.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" I was still spitting as I slammed into the front door. It crackled against my weight. The living room was empty, all the lights off. "Vergil! Mom! Dad! Are you here!? Is everyone okay!?" My heart felt like it had been caught in a blender, and I couldn't seem to remember how to breathe until Vergil appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing exhaustion from his eyes.

"Dante, what are you yelling about? Do you know what time it is?"

I'd never been more of a morning person than he was, so it was weird to see him so dead-eyed with frays of hair out of place. Though I'd been planning to kick his ass when I got there, I was so relieved he'd survived the weird bird death ritual thing that I tackled him and smothered him with a hug while he screeched beside my ear. "Dante! What is wrong with you?"

From down the hall, Mom peered out from her bedroom, a shotgun ready in her hand. "Is everything okay, Dante?"

Dad appeared behind her and tried to tug her back with a gentle hand on her arm, but her feet remained planted. "Please let me handle it if there's trouble, Dear," he said.

"I've got it."

As Vergil started to grab for Yamato, I let him go, sending him stumbling back. The weird bird ritual must have sapped all his energy and grace, but he was quick to straighten his clothes and hair.

"I don't know how you haven't noticed, but there's something fucked up in your front yard," I said with a thumb cocked over my shoulder. "Where's the kid? Is he alright?"

"Yes, he's in his room," Dad said as he drifted past Mom. His expression pinched with a slow unease. "What's outside? It smells of death."

"Go take a look, but be careful. I don't know if it's possessed or something." I wasn't sure if something like that could be possessed. Hexed, maybe. I sure hoped we weren't dealing with any witches, though. Those girls were mean as hell.

Dad and Vergil slipped past me, but Mom stayed put as I went to the kid's door. I didn't like that he hadn't woken up at all the racket. "Do you think it's alright?" Mom asked. "Whatever it is?"

"I have no idea," I admitted.

Nero's room looked empty without the chair and music stand in the middle of it. He was too clean for a kid. Other than a few stray workbooks across the floor, he kept all his toys in bins and shoved in his organized closet. When it had been my room, the place had always been a mess.

A ball huddled under the blankets of his bed, shaking like the cold had gotten to him. "Kid?" I called as I placed my hand to what I guessed was his shoulder. A jolt tore through him so harshly that it seemed to shoot up my arm like an electric shock. I couldn't help but jerk back, but when he tossed the blankets back, he launched himself at me. Getting a cannonball to the gut would have knocked the wind out of me less.

"Uncle Dante!" His voice was so thin that he sounded more desperate than happy. He'd always been a sensitive kid, and I feared he might have noticed the birds somehow. But he would have told someone if that were the case. Surely.

"Hey, take it easy, kid," I said, ruffling all the cowlicks that had curled into his hair. "You alright?"

He wasn't, no matter what he said. Even as I put my hands to his back, he was still shaking. "Didn't mean it," he said into my shirt. "Just wanna stay here. Just wanna stay."

"Helpful," I sighed.

"He must have had another nightmare," Mom said. She stood leaning against the doorway, the shotgun resting on her shoulder. "It's been a while, but he used to have them a lot." Her voice turned soft as a lullaby. "It's alright, Nero. You're safe. We won't let anything get you."

"Sorry," Nero whimpered. "I'm sorry." As tears filled his eyes, he kept on in a loop until I'd had enough of that and scooped him up into a carry.

"No need to apologize, kid. Everything's going to be fine because Uncle Dante is here now." I grinned at his confusion. "Now, I don't know about you, but I was promised pancakes, and I'm pretty hungry, so what do you say to going to the kitchen?"

His eyes remained wide as he nodded. Pancakes were sure to wake him up out of his weird daze, and the best thing about the kitchen was that it didn't have any front-facing windows. I didn't even have to worry about shielding him from the ones on the way downstairs because he wrapped his arms around my neck and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. He'd never been so clingy with me before, and he was toastier than I would have expected, like a little furnace.

Mom dug around in the cabinets and the fridge until she had everything tossed out on the counter. "Could you help, Nero?" she asked. As he peered out from his hiding spot, I realized how heavy his eyes were. He looked as exhausted as Vergil. I'd never heard of an evil bird hex that kept people from sleeping, but I'd seen stranger things.

Nero released his stranglehold on me, so I let him down. After plopping him onto the counter to sit, Mom had him crack eggs and measure flour. If he hadn't looked like he was about to fall asleep in the mixing bowl at any moment, it would have been a good tactic to distract him.

"Did you see that it's snowing, kid?" I asked.

He looked up with the slow realization of someone who was still processing words. His eyes darted toward the window before returning to the bowl hooked into his arm. "Yeah," was all he said.

"I'm starting to feel bad for waking him up," I muttered.

"Your father and brother are taking a while," Mom added in an equally hushed tone as she stepped closer to me.

"Well, there are a lot of birds."

"Birds?"

"Yeah, the front yard is just covered in dead birds. It's crazy. If a demon had done it, Dad should have noticed, but I can't imagine a human doing all that so quickly." They hadn't been there long or the snow would have covered them.

"Great," Mom said. "I hope Sparda doesn't go touching a bunch of dead birds before breakfast."

That did sound like him. Before I could respond, my smile faded as I noticed Nero's eyes glazed with fear again. He'd stopped moving, his knuckles white against his grip on the whisk. I couldn't even tell if he was breathing. All he did was stare out the window like the world outside was melting.

"What are you looking at, kid?" I asked, already starting toward him. Again, he jolted in surprise, and I had to shoot a hand out to catch the bowl before the batter could hit the tile. With a relieved puff of breath, I straightened myself and offered the bowl back to him. "That was close," I said.

He was shaking again, shaking so hard that he couldn't keep his hands steady enough to take the bowl from me. Mom took it instead.

Nothing lurked outside as far as I could see, just endless snow and trees. "You're starting to stress me out a little, kid," I said as I picked him back up. He tackled my neck again so hard that I choked for a second. This time, his cheek brushed mine as he burrowed himself back into his hiding place. It felt like leaning too close to a fire.

"Is he usually this warm?" I asked.

Setting down the bowl, Mom hummed in her vague, questioning way and pressed the back of her hand to what she could reach of Nero's face. Another hum, this one displeased. "He's got a fever. By the looks of it, it could be a stress fever, honestly."

"You can get a fever from that?" I'd always thought that was made up for TV, but I also rarely had fevers beyond the occasional instances of poison, so it wasn't my area of expertise.

Mom nodded before flitting over to the fridge and fishing out a juice box. "He hasn't been eating well, so that doesn't help. You're too stubborn for your own good, Nero."

She must have nudged the juice box into his hands because I found it chilling the back of my neck. Bunching my shoulders up, I hissed, "Kid, free me. I don't deserve this suffering."

"Oh yeah?" Mom said. "I think I remember someone hanging up on me."

Shit. She remembered. Of course she did. Mom never forgot anything. "Who could have possibly done that?" I gasped. "Such cruelty."

It took me a second to recognize the little warbly breath from the kid as a laugh. I was happy to know he wasn't dead to the world just yet. "How are you feeling, kid?" I asked as I settled him down in a dining room chair

"Okay." His voice still sounded like a small gust could carry it off. "Worry 'bout J, though."

"Well, you can worry about J, and I'll worry about you," I said. "You must have worn yourself out. Might not hurt to go back to bed after breakfast. Sleeping in is nice, huh?"

After a few misses, he managed to jab the straw into place and blinked up at me while sipping the juice. He may not have heard a word I said. Poor kid needed a nap.

Hearing the front door open, I ruffled his hair and darted for the living room. Vergil dusted snow from his shoulders as Dad cleaned his glasses on his coat. By the looks of Dad's puzzlement and Vergil's annoyance, I wouldn't be getting the answers I'd hoped for. "At least you're all set up to start a taxidermy collection," I said.

"Oh, I wouldn't like that," Dad muttered, his eyes rolled up in thought. "Besides, I have put them away." His gloves rested on his shoulder, so I had to hope he hadn't touched any dead birds with his bare hands. After replacing his glasses, he put a hand to his chin like some old-fashioned detective, but I could tell the pose wasn't doing anything for him. He was stumped.

"So what's the deal?" I asked. "What did we piss off this time?"

With a sigh, Dad shook his head.

"They were all killed with one single, precise stab wound through the chest," Vergil offered in his place. "It's not something I would expect a human to accomplish, especially considering that they all appear to be birds from this very forest."

"It's unfortunate," Dad said. "I suppose a human could manage it, but it would have been a challenge. There are so many birds, and they're all such recent kills. I'm uncertain a human would have known of this custom, though."

I held up a hand to keep Dad from wandering off topic. "What custom?"

"Oh, right, I suppose you wouldn't know it either." He laughed. "It's a very old custom for demon-kind. I haven't seen it used in centuries. In fact, I'd go so far as to call it old-fashioned."

So things could go out of style for demons. That was a new one for me.

"It's an invocation of challenge," he continued, "particularly for possessions or territory, but it's a lowly sort. The challenger kills something under the other demon's ownership or protection and leaves it for them to find." He crossed his arms, his eyes darkening. "Something came that close to the house, and I couldn't sense it. Whatever this thing is, it seems to revel in being difficult."

"The birds were under your protection?" Vergil asked. Though he didn't sound amused, I couldn't help but find that hilarious. The Legendary Dark Knight Sparda - lord of the songbirds.

Dad drew out his answer with a curious hum. "I suppose. They are an important part of the forest, and this area of the forest is mine by default, namely because few demons would be foolish enough to come so close to me. I am saddened to see such unnecessary death, but I would rather the birds than something else. The thing that is killed is usually a signal of some sort as to what is to be taken. For instance, if you wished to take a demon's mate, you would kill their child."

I gave a low whistle. "Sometimes I forget just how fucked-up you demons are."

Instead of showing any offense, Dad nodded. "Oh, certainly."

"The trouble is, Father doesn't know what it is that could evade his senses like this," Vergil cut in with a hiss that signaled he wanted us back on track.

"It's not that I don't know of some things that could do it, but more than one method exists."

"You can't narrow things down a bit?" I asked.

"I wish I could. I don't even know what the challenge is for. The forest, perhaps? And I certainly couldn't begin to guess who they are. I wish I had more of a hint so that I could know whether I should attempt to meet them away from the house in order to keep everyone out of harm's way, or if they wish for me to stray from the house so they might target it. Either way, perhaps it would be best to at least move Eva and Nero to a safer place."

Dad didn't often have good ideas, but I could get behind that one. Even Vergil conceded with a nod. "While I believe I could protect them, if something can hide itself from you, it is an issue," he said. "Keeping them out of harm's way would be best."

While it was a good idea, Nero wasn't going to like it, not with how freaked out and sick he was. Waiting until he'd passed out to take him anywhere seemed like the best option. "Where do you expect them to go in the meantime?" I asked.

A smile broke out across Dad's face as he looked at me. "It would just be for a short while, I'm sure."

Oh, no. Absolutely not. "You can't be serious. I only have one bed and a couch." And Mom would flip if she saw the place, especially my empty fridge. I hadn't done any dishes in days, and at least five pizza boxes were stacked on top of the trash can. Come to think of it, that was probably why I had roaches.

As though Vergil could see into my thoughts and had spotted all the scuttling roaches, his eyes narrowed to thin lines. "It's unfortunate, but it's the best option," he said, biting down on every word.

"What's wrong with a hotel?" I asked. They sure weren't short on cash.

Dad was still all smiles. "You need to stay close to them," he said. From the sound of it, I wouldn't be going on this weird hunt for the bird killer at all. As much as I loved Mom and the kid, sitting around with them instead of getting to chase some mystery sounded like a slog.

Though I knew I wasn't winning, I offered a last-ditch argument. "You know, there are more demons downtown than uptown. My shop isn't the best place."

A flash of demonic energy smacked me in the face. Vergil was in some kind of mood again. "Are you telling me that you are incapable of protecting my son?" he spat. "I suppose Mom can do it in your place then."

Great, I'd been there all of fifteen minutes, and Vergil already had my eyes burning with building anger. Venom pierced my words before I could stop myself. "Already apparent that I protect him better than you, or is he usually like this as a result of your great parenting?"

Vergil was supposed to bite back. He was supposed to snarl and draw his sword, tell me I was a dead man. Instead, his anger slipped away to reveal a weary guilt that weighed down his shoulders. "It would seem so," he murmured. "But I will… I'm going to fix that. Before he leaves, yes, I'll do it before he leaves."

Vergil rarely surprised me anymore. I'd known him too long, yet I stood there with my mouth hanging open as I searched for some response. I couldn't find any. Dad's eyes were bright with affection until he hid it behind a smile that was a bit too wide. "Where do you expect to be during all this?" he asked.

Confusion shocked Vergil back to his senses. "I will help you deal with this."

"Is that right?"

"It is my territory just as much as it is yours."

"If you say so, Son."

"Father!"

"Hey!" Mom barked from the kitchen. "Are you boys fighting? I'm not having it! Come here and get some pancakes."

I wasn't going to argue with pancakes. Back in the dining room, I found Nero smacked face-down against the table like a drunk at a bar. He only raised his head when Mom tapped him on the shoulder and told him the pancakes were ready. After a few slow blinks, his eyes shot wide at the sight of Vergil sitting next to him. The week must have been a weird one because Vergil looked like he wanted to shrink under Nero's gaze.

The pancakes were good, same as always. Mom had aced the recipe years back. While I ate through three of them, Nero took two bites before dropping his face back to the table. I looked to Mom, but she was watching Vergil, and Vergil's eyes kept flitting over Nero. I could see the usual calculations running through Vergil's head, but on top of that was something else - worry.

With hesitation, he raised his hand and let his fingertips settle on Nero's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was so gentle that I swore it couldn't have been my brother's. "Are you alright?"

Nero's eyes dragged open again, hazy blue obscured under his messy hair. The seconds ticked by as he looked up at his father in silence, Vergil looking more and more anxious until Mom cut in. "He's got a bit of a stress fever, and he needs some rest, but he'll be alright. I was hoping he'd eat first, but I guess we should just let him sleep for now. Nero, sweetie, do you want some more juice before you go to sleep?"

Nero breathed a sigh through his nose. "Hm, juice," was all he said.

Mom must have made more sense of it than I did because she went to the fridge and grabbed another box. For some reason, she handed it to Vergil instead of Nero. Vergil looked at it like he'd never seen one in his life.

"Nero, do you want to go lie down?" Mom asked.

"Don't wanna be 'lone," he said in such a small, sad voice that I was pretty sure I needed to lie down too.

"Don't worry. Your dad will stay with you."

Vergil jolted at the news. When Mom caught his gaze, the two of them had a silent argument that Vergil had no hope of winning. Mom's eyes might as well have shot out beams with the message, "Too bad. It's on you now."

For his part, Nero didn't seem to care, but he did paw at the juice box in Vergil's hand, effectively ending the argument. "Alright," Vergil said as he popped the straw into it. "Here."

Nero was so tired that he kept having to peel his eyelids back open, and he didn't show any sign that he noticed when Vergil picked him up. No, Nero just sipped his juice. The kid had absolutely no idea what was going on. I was sure of it.

"Are you sure he's okay?" I asked Mom as I leaned my chair back on two legs to keep an eye on them. Vergil sat on the couch and settled Nero down to lie next to him.

Coming up next to me, she watched them as well. She also grabbed the back of my chair and smacked it back down onto four legs. "He doesn't have any symptoms of anything," she said. "He's just more stressed than his little body can handle. I should have intervened sooner. We're really all too stubborn in this family."

Dad nodded as he stuffed a half of a pancake in his mouth.

As soon as we heard Vergil speak, we all froze, listening. Sure, we were all stubborn, and we were terrible eavesdroppers too.

"It seems you didn't sleep well last night either. That is, ah… I'm sorry you're not feeling well. I would never have wished to cause you so much stress. What I mean to say is-" As he hissed a sigh, I leaned my chair back again to see him rubbing a hand against his face. Nero had finished off his juice box and was chewing on the straw, his brow puzzled. "I want to apologize," Vergil huffed, tossing his hands up, "but I can't seem to think of anything that doesn't sound cheap or shallow."

Only my brother could think that hard about how a seven-year-old would take an apology. I felt like I needed to get out some pom-poms for him.

"Just please know that I'm working on my temper, and I aim to be more aware of your feelings," he continued, his voice lowered. "I can be difficult to have as a father, but I hope to learn to be a father whom you feel you can trust. I hate that I have ever made you feel anxious. I am… very proud of you, Nero. You still have much to learn, but so do I. We will make it through this. I hope you can forgive me for what I said to you."

The fact that I was pretty sure Nero wasn't coherent enough to understand a word of it made it just about the saddest thing I'd ever seen. Well, it made for a good practice run. The kid's eyes were glassy as Vergil brushed Nero's bangs out of them. "I don't know that you can actually understand much of what I'm saying," Vergil said with a breath of a laugh. At least he'd noticed.

Nero finally made a sound, another hum that could have meant anything. His hand drifted up to pat at Vergil's shoulder. "Forgive you," he said. "Don't go anywhere. Don't leave."

Despite everything, it was nice to see Vergil smile for once. "I suppose I should let you sleep. I'll stay here a while, but your grandfather and I have something we need to take care of here. Would you be alright going with your uncle to his shop for a day?"

Nero's fingers curled into the fabric of Vergil's sleeve. It was the first time I'd ever seen him clingy with his dad before. "Be careful, Father."

"Oh and, um-" Vergil's eyes flitted to their corners, and he swiped a finger across his nose. Embarrassed was my new favorite look for my brother. "You don't- If you want to, you can… Unless you really want to call me 'Father,' in which case, that's fine."

"Oh, bless him," Mom whispered, placing a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. "He's trying."

After a few more stumbling attempts, he managed it. "But you can call me whatever you want. Within reason." By that point, Nero was struggling to keep his eyes open. "And, you know, I hardly use my violin anymore. I'd hate for you to fall behind. Just until we get you a new one, you could…" He trailed off as he noticed the kid dozing. Nero's hand still clutched Vergil's sleeve until Vergil pulled it away and set it back on the couch.

"Now if I could get him to listen as well as the rest of you, I'd be set," Vergil said, eyes flashing toward us. I waved. Mom clapped for him. Dad was still eating pancakes. As Vergil opened his mouth to say something scathing, Mom cut him off.

"So what's this about me leaving?"

Not too surprisingly, she wasn't thrilled after we explained the situation. She only agreed after we all assured her that, yes, she could handle herself, but someone needed to look after Nero while he was sick, and I was just about the worst person for the job. Plus, someone needed to drive Nero because I didn't need a repeat of last time with a kid passed out on my bike.

After a few minutes upstairs, Mom reappeared with a backpack slung over one shoulder. "I didn't pack that much," she said. "This had better not take long, whatever it is. And you two better be so careful." As I went over to gather up the kid, Mom smacked one hand to Dad's cheek and one to Vergil's. "There are vital stars near the first aid kit. Take them with you if you go out. There's more in the shed if you need them."

Those were more for her and Nero than the rest of us, but Vergil nodded, knowing better than to argue. "Of course, Dear," Dad said.

Nero was a sagging weight in my arms even when his eyes flickered open. I might not have understood his murmuring had his head not been resting on my shoulder. "We going to your shop?"

"Yeah, for a while. You can rest up, and we'll play some more pool." If this took all day, he'd have to take my bed, and so would Mom, so I got the couch. Great.

"A while?" Lifting his head, he blinked some of the glaze from his eyes. "Gotta do my workbooks. Haven't done 'em yet. I need to get 'em." Only Vergil could make his kid bother to think about something like that when he was dead on his feet.

"I'm sure you can skip a day," I said, but Nero shook his head.

"You don't have to take them, Nero," Vergil called. "It's alright to take a break for now."

When Nero puffed his cheeks, I knew I had no chance of leaving without those stupid books. "Want stickers," he said, kicking his feet.

"Stickers?" I echoed. For someone who was supposed to be tired, he wiggled with enough energy that I had to let him go. He took two steps before turning back and grabbing my hand to drag me along.

"Stickers are his incentive for finishing his assignments," Vergil said. "He likes them quite a bit."

I couldn't believe it. The two most hard-headed people I'd ever met forged a deal over tacky pieces of paper. "Kid, I think you're getting the poor end of this deal. You should ask for money or something."

"I like stickers," he said like they were some serious, sacred treasure. I had a feeling that if he did get money as a reward, he'd just buy himself more stickers anyway.

When he stumbled on the stairs, I tightened my grip on his hand and pulled him upright before he could eat a step. The second time he tripped, I just scooped him up under one arm to carry him the rest of the way. He dangled there like the angriest sack of potatoes I'd ever seen.

"Still feeling a little rough, kid?" I asked.

"No, I am okay," he said.

I snorted. "You lie through your teeth just like your dad."

"I'm not sick, but J is sick." Like with the stickers, he was so serious, his brow pinched with worry. "Hope they're gonna be okay. Been bad."

"What's wrong with them?" I asked as I plopped him down to his feet in his room. "Are they dizzy? Have a fever? Haven't been sleeping well? Not eating?"

The little brat stuck his tongue out at me. "No, Uncle Dante. They're…" He struggled for an answer as he scavenged for his books, strewn around the floor. "I dunno. I said some stuff. Didn't mean it, but J thinks so. They're mad."

Oh no, this sounded like a deep talk with understanding and all that. Not my forte. "Well, I've said some things I didn't mean," I offered, hesitation tugging at my words. "It happens, but you just make sure everyone understands that you're sorry and all that? And uh, try not to do it again."

"I did." His voice started wavering, growing thin like it had been when he first woke up. He hugged the books to his chest. "I tell them, but J keeps going to the window. I thought they don't like the house, but they won't go away."

He was shaking again, and a gnawing pit in my gut was telling me that it wasn't because of any nightmare. Kneeling in front of him, I put my hands to his shoulders until he looked me in the eye. "What do you mean they won't go away?"

"I told them I wanted to sleep, but they won't go away, and they're scary now."

Fuck. I didn't know what the hell was going on, but my heart was hammering. "How are they scary?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Their eyes." He brought one hand up in front of his face, drawing his fingers down in front of his eyes as he struggled for the right words. "Their eyes are… gone. Just black. I don't like it. Lots of black. Like… paint? They said I'm going away, but I don't wanna."

"Oh, fuck." I could get in trouble for cursing in front of the kid later. That was as tame as I could be then. "Come here, kid, we need to tell your dad and my dad and try not to give Mom a heart attack."

As I stood, he shook his head. "Da- Father and Evie say J's not real."

"Well we're all idiots," I said. "I'll back you up this time, but we've got to-"

Something hit the window outside, a thunk like some dumb bird. Nero's shoulders went taut under my hands as the gray light turned to shadow. I swore I could hear my own pulse as it rattled through me.

One hand shot for Ivory just as I turned to see something thin and white shatter through the window and ram into my chest.

The kid ripped from my grasp, my back slamming into the wall.

As I forced myself to blink the world back into focus, I found a bone piercing my sternum. My struggling pulse assured me that it had gotten through my heart too. Getting stabbed never got any easier. Always fucking annoying. I reached up to yank the thing out, but a flash of light burst from it along with a swarm of white feathers that might as well have been razors for the way they tore my heart and lungs to shreds.

The pain was blinding, white-hot agony like I'd swallowed acid. Blood gurgled in my throat with each useless gulp for air. Threads of an inky black substance poured through the feathers and dripped into my wound. When a strangled cough broke from me, the substance poured from my mouth along with my blood.

"Uncle Dante!" Nero screamed, his voice tearing raw in his desperation. He clawed at the windowsill, shards of glass digging into his arms as that thing - that bastard - held him in a careful embrace. If not for its empty eye sockets and that weird black ooze pouring from them, it could have been a kid. No bigger than Nero. Long white hair. Smiling like a son of a bitch. In the instant I looked at it, a hunk of flesh fell from its cheek, revealing its jawbone and teeth.

The wing stemmed from its back, and it had more, broad enough to block the sun from coming in, even with one still jammed into my chest. I grasped for my Trigger, reaching for the rush of fire that seemed to eat me up and leave me invincible all at once. Instead, a burst of agony shot through me. It was like I'd overloaded a fuse. Instead of fire, it felt like poison spreading through my veins.

I would have yelled, but my own blood strangled me to silence. A black haze fell over my vision, melting further down as the wing tore from my chest. My heart could have ripped out along with it for all I knew. I heard Nero scream again, but he sounded so far away.

Dammit.

Dammit, not the kid. Please, not the kid. Give him back.

I couldn't tell how much time had passed, but Dad was… somewhere. He sounded frantic, scared. That was strange from him. But nothing sounded clear until I was jerked forward and Vergil snarled right in front of me. "Did you let something take my son? What was it? Where is he!?"

If Vergil sounded scared too, then we were fucked.

As I tried to hiss an answer, another cough filled my mouth with blood. "J," was all I could manage instead.

"J? Are you insane?"

"Real," I spat. "Not human."

"Something's stopping him from healing," Dad cut in, sounding close. "Son, keep breathing. Hold on."

"What?" Vergil sounded as young as scared as his kid. "Why isn't he healing? Dante-"

They weren't supposed to be with me. I didn't matter. Even though I couldn't see, I knew they were in front of me, so I reached up until I felt something smooth like cloth, and I pushed against it with all the remaining strength I could summon. "Go get the kid," I forced out with what breath I had. As I struggled to gasp in more through the pain, I felt the soft weight of a forehead pressed to mine.

"I'll get him," Vergil whispered. "Don't you dare die, Brother."

His presence vanished, but Dad's remained as a comforting weight, a reminder that I was still alive. I tried to tell him to go too, but my words were fragments, and he breathed a soft shushing sound. "I will follow him," he said. "But right now I have to see to you. This will hurt. I do apologize, but stay with me. Your mother's getting a vital star for you."

It already hurt. I didn't think the pain could get any worse until Dad's hand jammed into the wound. My head cracked against the wall as I jerked back. "Sorry," he whispered around my choked whine. "I've got it. Hang on."

His hand yanked back, pulling something along with it that felt like a row of barbed wire. The air smelled of fire, and Dad hissed. "Damn. Damn it all."

"Oh my god," Mom said from further away. "Oh fuck, here! Dante, please be okay. Please." Tears choked her up. I hated when Mom cried. I wished I could have cracked some stupid joke to cheer her up or at least make her mad, but my world was a dark haze that tasted of blood.

"You're not going to like this," Dad said. Yeah, because everything else had been so enjoyable. "But it's good for you." Something hit my tongue before my jaw was forced shut. The familiar, glassy shattering of a vital star crunched between my teeth. Tasted like mouthwash and ass. As I fought and gagged, Dad held my mouth shut. "There you are." I could hear that smarmy grin in his voice. "Much better. You will heal fine."

"From what!?" Mom demanded. "What was that? Is that a feather!?"

My sight returned, blurry but coherent, just in time to watch Dad's smile vanish as he stared down at a glistening feather painted red with my blood. "Yes, from an angel," he said. "It's no wonder I couldn't sense the damned thing."

An angel. Huh. I'd never seen one. I could have done without, actually. With my lungs pulling themselves back together, I was able to take my first deep breath; then I promptly started coughing and hacking again. The inky substance spilled from my lips as Dad patted my back. "Quite literally damned, it seems," he muttered.

"Oh, great," Mom said, pacing the room and running her hands through her hair. Tears stained her face. "An angel. A fucking angel. And Vergil's going after it. Oh my god. Is he going to be okay? Is Nero going to be okay!? Dante?"

"Dante will mend. I will see to Vergil. I believe this angel is low in the hierarchy. The weaker ones mask their presence." His eyes softened with regret. "I should have realized sooner, but this is a strange case. The weak ones are not made to be warriors. They are protectors and usually benign."

"It  _took_  Nero!"

"Yes, it is losing its senses and reason." He pressed the tips of his fingers to a spot on my chest, swiping away a bit of the sludge. Beneath it, his skin was burnt to an ugly, blistered red. Burns healed slow, and I realized my chest must have looked the same from that feather. "This substance… the Angel is severing its connection. It's falling and won't be able to maintain itself. Please look after Dante. I must go." With that, his presence vanished as well.

"Be careful," Mom said to the empty air. With my eyes falling shut against my will, I only felt her collapse beside me. Trembling, she put her arms around me. "Everything's going to be okay."

I wondered which of us she was saying that for.

"I need to go too." I sounded like I'd gargled razors, but at least I could talk again, even if it was still like agony. "Got to get the kid. He was so scared. I have to save him."

She shushed me like Dad had. "Dante, just keep breathing for me right now, alright? Please, I need you to keep breathing. I thought you were dying. I thought you were gone."

It was still less painful to not breathe at all, but I forced my chest to rise and fall because I could hear her trying not to cry. I needed to heal, needed to get the kid back. If anything happened to him, I would never forgive myself.

None of us would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't have things go too well for Vergil, now can I?   
> Also, my good child has arrived! They're here.


	8. I Don't Know Any Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never had a fic with this much focus on an OC before since my characters are usually just unimportant trash villains, but I've got some 'splaining to do, so this chapter is a little weird. If this chapter isn't your speed, no worries, because Dad will be back next chapter, and he's going to be fucking pissed.

* * *

Cold.

So cold.

I kept shivering, but it didn't help. There was nothing warm. It was dark too, so dark that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I was pretty sure my eyes were open. But it was just so dark. Dark and cold.

Even though my arms hurt so much to move, I reached out in the black. Ahead of me was empty. I felt like if I took a step, I would fall into a hole I couldn't see. I would fall forever.

"Uncle Dante?" I called. My words echoed on and on, everywhere around me like a hundred voices. All of them were just mine, though. Maybe I was already in a hole. If I hadn't felt rocks under my hands, I could have still been falling. The rocks were slippery like ice and just as cold. I didn't have any socks or shoes, and my feet kept sliding on the rocks even though I wanted my knees close to keep warm. It didn't help anyway. The water had gotten all over my pajamas.

Uncle Dante didn't answer, just like before. He'd been hurt so bad. There was so much blood, and he was in a lot of pain. I knew he was. It was all my fault.

My shoulders started shaking harder, and tears filled my eyes. I hated crying, even in the dark where no one could see. Every sound was so loud. I tried to put my face in my hands to keep my sobs from echoing back in my ears, but it didn't matter. It was the only sound.

I wanted out. I wanted light. I wanted to be warm. I wanted Uncle Dante to be okay.

"Evie!" I screamed. "Nonno!"

Nothing. Just my echoes and my sobbing. I felt like I couldn't get air. My chest hurt so much.

"Father! Please! I wanna go home. Please."

"You are awake," J said. I couldn't see them, but they were there in front of me in the dark. Their voice didn't echo. "I am happy. I was worried for a bit. You passed out." They sounded like they always did. So calm. I used to think their voice was pretty like Evie's, but I hated it with black all around. I just wanted to hear someone else.

"You hurt Uncle Dante!" I screamed. "Why!?"

"I am very sorry. I thought that was your father. I can no longer see, and they smell so much alike. I would not have hurt your uncle if it could be avoided. But, really, they should have known and prepared accordingly. I presented the challenge. At least… I think I did it right."

I didn't know what J meant anymore. Everything they said was weird, and I was so dizzy. When I tried to talk, my words kept jumping with my shaking. "You were gonna hurt my father?"

The pretty voice went away like their eyes, just ugly black instead. "Of course. He made you sad. He kept us apart. He needed to go away - that is what you said. I am going to make you happy. Do not worry, Nero."

Something touched me. I jumped but couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. "It is just a blanket," J said. Cloth - something actually dry - fell over my shoulders. "Your internal temperature is dropping. I think that is bad. I have never felt cold before." They got so quiet that I thought they were gone at first. When they talked again, I tried to crawl back, but a fire burned in my arms. Their voice sounded like claws had ripped it up. "The cold is new. I do not like it, but… Nero, you are bleeding."

"I am?" My hands were warm, and every time my heart beat, the pain would flash like a picture. "I need to- Need to go home. Evie will- Let me go home, J. Please."

"No, I will fix it. I can do better." The thing that grabbed my wrist was a hand. It had to be, but it was sharp and cold just like the rocks. J's hands used to be so warm. I kept crying instead of breathing and pulled hard to get my hand away. J was so strong. "I will fix it," they said again. Their other hand touched my arm where it hurt most.

Then my arm was cold deep inside. My bones, my blood - they were so cold, and it hurt. It  _hurt_. I didn't understand because it was ice that burned like fire. I screamed and kicked, trying to get away.

J just grabbed my other arm and did it to that one too. Everything hurt. My eyes got weird all the sudden, kinda heavy. I didn't even know I fell over, but the cold rocks were on my cheek. I was so tired, probably because I slept so bad at night.

"My deepest apologies for the pain," J said. "But it should fix the wounds. I-it should… My blood always worked before." Their hand started to touch my head, but I jumped again, my heart running in fear of more pain. Their hand pulled away. "I am sorry. I did not mean for you to get hurt, but they were going to take you away. I needed to act."

"What are you, J?" I could only talk in a whisper.

"I am your friend, of course." They sounded almost scared, almost sad. "That is why I am going to look after you, so I can make you happy. That is what friends do."

It didn't make sense. We were supposed to be friends. J was my best friend.

My only friend.

They weren't like that when we met. Something went wrong. Something…

I met J in the trees. I was exploring, and they just appeared. Like magic. They stepped out from behind a tree with long white hair, as long as Evie's, and blue eyes as bright as the sky that day. They looked kind of like me but so pretty.

"You need to be careful being so far out in the forest alone," they said. Their voice was so pretty too. Like a song. "Sometimes dangerous things live out here."

"Nonno takes care of it. Nothing will hurt me." I leaned closer, staring at them even though Evie said that wasn't nice. They didn't feel like a demon. Demons made the air all crackly and dark, but they were bright. "You're really pretty," I said.

"Thank you. You are as well." I was gonna tell them that was wrong and dumb, but they asked something weird. "Tell me, are you sad?"

No one ever asked me that before. I crossed my arms, still staring. They were weird. "Sometimes. I dunno," I said. "Doesn't matter."

"Well, are you happy?"

That question was harder. All the questions in my workbooks had one answer, but this one had a bunch. Evie made me happy sometimes and so did Nonno. I was happy when Uncle Dante came to visit. Father… Father made me worried. My chest would hurt, and my hands would shake.

But I was usually happy. Maybe. Sometimes. When he wasn't around.

"Then let me show you something neat," they said like I had answered. "I think you will like it."

A ball of light popped up in front of my face. It was like the size of my hand and sparkly like a star. When I tried to touch it, my fingers went through it like nothing was there. Another one popped up and another. The air was full of them like the starry night sky but all around me.

"How do you do that?" I asked. "Is it magic?"

"Magic is an illusion, yes? So I suppose you could say it is magic." They twirled their hand, and the stars spun and danced, flashing different colors.

"They're so pretty!" I smiled so wide that my cheeks started to hurt.

They laughed like the silvery chimes Evie hung outside the house. "I am glad you like it. Watch." With another flick of their hands, the lights burst into little fireworks.

"Cool, cool!" I clapped and bounced on my toes. "What else can you do?"

"What would you like to see? I can make anything appear, anything you can think of."

I had to think hard about it because there were so many things I wanted to see. But there was one thing... "A dinosaur!"

They laughed again. "I am not quite old enough to have experienced one, but you have an idea of one, it seems. Let me see." They closed their eyes, and the trees started humming, or maybe it was just the air. I could feel it on my arms and legs. It was a little scary, but it went away so fast that I didn't think about running away.

"Here," they said, and a dinosaur as big as a horse appeared. It looked just like the pictures in my books, all scaley and gray with giant claws and teeth. Father said the books were wrong and the dinos had feathers, but here was one that had no feathers! So there!

"I am not certain how to move it," they said, waving their hands. The dinosaur bobbed its head and flicked its claws.

"Can you make it really big!?" I asked.

"Oh, I can't make anything too big. That might startle people. I would get in trouble, and people… make me nervous. I do not like to be around many, but one is okay. I can be around one."

They were weird, but Evie said it wasn't nice to tell people that. "Hey, what are you?" I asked. No person I'd met could do real magic with dinosaurs and stuff.

When they looked down at their hands and hummed, the dinosaur disappeared. "I think I am a child this time, as you wished."

"Well, yeah. I mean, are you human?"

They blinked and stared at me. I got why Evie said not to stare then. It made me kinda nervous. "Are  _you_?" they asked.

"I… Yeah. I'm human." Kinda.

"Then I am as well."

I didn't want to talk about that anymore, so I asked a different question. "Are you a girl or a boy?"

"Yes. Both. Neither. What would you like?"

They were so weird. "I just wanna get it right."

"You are very kind. I suppose it would be most accurate to say I am both."

"Uh, okay." All of their answers were confusing. It just made me want to ask more questions. "Hey, how come you have white hair like I do?"

"Do you like it?" They curled a strand around their finger and smiled. "I like looking like you. We should be friends."

"Friends?" I took a step back. "Really?" Kids on the island would ask me that as a joke sometimes. I would say yes, and they would laugh. It was never real. No one wanted to be friends with me.

But they smiled soft like Evie. Their eyes weren't mean. "Yes, I can show you many more things. I like seeing how happy it makes you. Would you like to be friends?" They reached out a hand, and I took hold of it. The air was all warm and fuzzy like a blanket, and they were so bright, like a sun I could look at. They weren't laughing, but they looked so happy.

"Yes!" I said, smiling too. "We can be friends! I've never had a friend before."

"It has been a long time since I had one," they said. "What is your name?"

"Nero! What's yours?"

"My true name is difficult to say. You may call me…" They looked up in the trees, and I followed their eyes to find a pretty blue bird. "Jay."

"J? Like the letter?" What a weird name.

They laughed. "If that's what you like."

J was always in the same spot when I went to visit. They would sit on the log and wait like they were always there, always waiting for me. "Hello again, Nero," they said when I got there. "I missed you. How have you been?"

They could show me anything I wanted, all the worlds from the pictures in my books. Nothing was really there. I couldn't touch it, but I could pretend. I could pretend I was far away.

And J always listened. They never got mad at me. At least, they didn't used to.

"I do not like your family," they said one day after I told them about Father being mean. "I do not like that they upset you."

"Just Father," I said. "The rest of my family is good."

J nodded. "Then I do not like your father. I do not like that he makes you unhappy. Children should not remain with unfit parents… but that is beyond my boundaries."

"You're saying weird stuff again." I stopped caring about calling them weird a long time ago because they always laughed when I did.

"My apologies. I will simply do as I can to make you happy, Nero, as much as my role will allow me."

They were weird, but they were nice. And they were my friend. Sometimes friends were just weird. Probably. Later, they got… more weird.

"We should go to the river, Nero," J said after I told them about going to the city with Uncle Dante. They liked that part of the story, but they stopped smiling after I told them about Uncle Dante and Father fighting. They still weren't smiling.

"The creek?" I said. "I'm not allowed over there."

"Why not?"

"Nonno says that the creek makes it hard for him to see or something. I don't get it. And it's slippery and stuff."

"Flowing water is strange." J nodded, looking off somewhere far away. Then they smiled, but it wasn't like normal. Their eyes were shut. "But there are frogs we can catch, Nero."

"In winter?" I hadn't seen any frogs in a while. Some toads, yeah, but no frogs. I was real good at catching frogs and toads and lizards, though.

"Yes, I know where there are a great many still," J said. "I can show you something very neat."

"Are you sure they're not just toads?"

"I am certain."

They were probably wrong, so I had to go and see to tell them they were wrong. J took my hand and led me to the creek. Just a little water ran through it, about as wide as my shoe, but the walls around it were almost as tall as me. I read about canyons once. The creek looked like one but tiny just like the pictures.

"We need to go to the other side," J said.

"I'm not allowed over there." Evie said so, and if she found out, she was gonna be mad.

"Just for a bit." They stepped down the wall like it could've had stairs. When they got to the bottom, they reached out their hand. I tried to follow like they did, but my foot slipped as soon as it touched the muddy wall, and I crashed down into the water.

"I'm gonna be in so much trouble!" I yelled as I jumped back to my feet and grabbed the top of the wall, kicking against it until I got back up.

J looked so sad standing there alone. "If you are going to be in trouble, you should not go back," they said. "You should stay with me."

"No, I have to go! Evie will worry! If I'm fast, maybe they won't see me."

When I went back the next time, I asked J if they were mad, but they said no. "I would never be mad at you, Nero. We are friends, and I want you to be happy. I am angry with your family sometimes."

"Just Father," I reminded them.

"If that is what you wish." They looked off at nothing again. "But the rest allow him to act as he does."

"He's taking me to an orchestra!" I said. "I'm gonna play with kids!" I felt like I should've been smiling, but I couldn't for some reason. I'd been so excited to tell J about it, but it made me feel all sick to my stomach too.

"This makes you nervous," J said, looking at me again. Their eyes were sharp like two pretty glass knives. I couldn't hide anything from them.

"I hope the other kids don't make fun of me for being bad," I said. "I'm not very good."

J patted my shoulder and smiled. "I think you are fantastic, Nero." They were always so nice.

My face got all hot, and I rubbed at my nose to make it stop. "You never heard me play," I said.

"I would like to hear you play sometime. You should bring your violin, and I will listen."

"Oh, I can't get my violin out here. Father would be mad. You can come to the house, and I can play for you."

They stopped smiling. "No, being around so many new people would make me nervous, especially your father. He does not like me, and I do not like him. But I will be here. If the kids are mean to you, you can just play for me. You do not need anything from them. What they say doesn't matter. Next time you visit, bring your violin if you can. I would like to hear, and do tell me how orchestra goes."

I loved the orchestra. I thought J would too. They were always happy when I was happy. I told them all about it, throwing my hands up at my favorite parts like how the drummers kept dropping their sticks and how the trumpets were too loud. "Drew plays trumpet," I said with a big smile, "and he's really funny, and he said we can be friends!"

J nodded, but they didn't smile. Not once. "We are friends," they said.

"Well, yeah. You're my best friend."

"Your father will take you to this orchestra?" they asked.

"Sometimes."

"How often will you go?"

"Two times a week." I held up two fingers like Evie had.

"You will be gone often then." J was frowning, so I patted their shoulder. They didn't frown much. I didn't like it.

"I'll still visit lots, and see? I brought my violin to show you." I smacked the case in my lap. "But I can't play too loud. Father will be mad if he finds out."

"Your father is mad about so many things."

I nodded as I got the violin out and set the case to the side. The shiny wood looked weird next to the old fallen log that we sat on.

"You need this for orchestra?" J asked, and I laughed.

"Yeah, can't play without an instrument. Duh."

"May I touch it?" J asked.

"Okay, but be careful."

They picked it up on flat hands and looked at it for a second. When their fingers curled around it, it broke apart like the lights bursting into fireworks.

I screamed at J and at nothing. I just screamed for so long. J kept saying they were sorry and it was an accident, but Father was gonna be so mad. He would be so mad.

When Nonno appeared, J was gone. Everything fell apart after that just like my violin. Father was so scary, and Evie didn't believe me anymore.

The house was quiet.

But after two nights, J came to my window. I didn't know how they stayed up there, but I pushed up the glass for them even though it was heavy and stuck a lot. I asked if they wanted to come inside, but they shook their head. "I am very sorry about your violin," they said. "I would never wish to see you cry like that again. I made a mistake."

"I forgive you," I said, putting my hands on the windowsill and leaning as close to the screen as I could to see how they stayed up like that. I couldn't tell. "Wanna still be friends, and I'm just mad at Father really, and Evie doesn't think you're real."

For some reason, J's eyes looked dark, not like the sky at day but like the sky when the sun was almost gone. And they were frowning again. "I heard what your father said to you. I saw what he did. I am furious with him, but I am glad that we may still be friends, Nero. I would never wish to lose you."

J was my only friend. I couldn't go to orchestra and see Drew anymore, so I didn't want to lose J too.

"Sorry I can't go see you," I said. "Evie says I can't go outside this week 'cause I'm grounded."

J's eyes looked darker again, so dark that the middle black part matched the part that was supposed to be color. "Your eyes are kind of weird, J," I said.

"Yes, They are growing distant. They are telling me this is the wrong path, but I do not believe it is. I believe this is the only way. No matter what it takes. Tell me, Nero, your Father is leaving next week, yes?"

"Yeah, for work." My stomach felt all messed up, and my hands were shaking. I didn't know why, but I didn't like J like this. "But I'll visit you next week!" I said, wanting them to go back to normal. "I'll be not grounded, and it's easy when Father isn't here. Don't gotta ask him. Wish he was always out for work stuff."

"Then we could be together if he were gone."

"Yeah!"

"Then I will make him go away." The black spread out across the white part of their eyes too.

My smile fell. I couldn't talk at first. Words didn't come. "How...how will you do that?"

As they smiled, a line drew across their cheek like a pencil on paper. Blood spilled from it. "J, you're bleeding," I said, but the blood looked black like their eyes. My voice was shaking. "J, are you okay?"

They just smiled. "Do not worry, Nero. I will make you happy."

They came back the next night and asked if I could visit. I said no. The black blood stuff kept spilling from their mouth. And the next night, they asked if I could visit again. I said no, and they closed one of their glassy black eyes. The black came out from under their eyelid like tears made of paint.

I sat by the window and looked away so I didn't have to see. "You're scaring me, J," I said. "You look scary."

"I am sorry. I will try to fix it once your father is gone."

"Gone where? Where's he going?"

Nonno came in then, and I was so happy that J left. I felt like I could breathe again. But J came back to the window after Nonno was gone.

They had both eyes open, but both eyes were gone. Just empty like caves in their face. The black dripped down their cheeks. They called through the window, but I didn't want to see them. They didn't leave. They stayed. All night. Staring at me with no eyes.

I couldn't sleep.

J was supposed to leave me alone when I was with my family. They were supposed to  _leave me alone_. But they were there when I was mixing pancakes. I saw them through the window. They stood across the yard. Still staring. They were waving too, but they moved weird, like the ticking of the big clock in the dining room.

Wherever I was now, maybe the dark was good. I couldn't see anything, but I couldn't see J too. I could close my eyes, and it was the same.

"You are unhappy," J said from somewhere in the dark. "Terribly unhappy. I am failing you. But I will move us soon to someplace you will like, and I will find a way to fix my form. Then you can look at me again and not be scared. Then I can… see again. For now, I must be like this. It is the only way I can be strong, the only way I can fight. I am too weak otherwise, tethered to my role. Illusions do nothing but hide. I must kill for us. We will be together, and you will be safe, and I will make sure you are happy. You are all I have now, Nero, so I will look after you. I must."

"No, no killing," I said. My tears felt so warm on my face. Everything else was like ice. "J, please, I wanna go home. I wanna make sure my uncle is okay. You hurt him so bad, J. I don't want you to hurt my family."

"You do not need them. You have me. We're best friends, Nero. I am the only one who can make you happy."

The hand that was too thin and cold touched my cheek. I couldn't back away from it. It stayed. "I am going to make sure they cannot follow us, and then we will go somewhere far away," J said. "Then you will be happy. Then the pain will stop. Surely it must stop." Sharp fingertips dug into my cheek before J finally let go, and I sobbed.

"Please, J," I said when I could breathe. "Please don't hurt my family. I need them. Let me go home. I have to go home. I have to see my father. I never said I was sorry. He did! But I didn't! Gotta tell him I'm sorry for breaking his violin! Please, just let me see my dad."

"Do not fret, Nero," J said. "There is no need to worry about having to apologize to that man. You will never see him again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biblical angels are terrifying creatures, but I always felt kind of bad for them. The moment they show any free will, they get cast away.   
> That can't be good for the mind.


	9. All I Know Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sleepy right now, but I finally finished it. This chapter. Not the fic.  
> You're getting another chapter because this one got too long. Too bad.  
> Now enjoy my made-up lore.

All our power. All Father's years and my training. All of that, and we couldn't track down one goddamn angel.

J, or whatever the hell it was, was long gone from view by the time I got outside. A speckling of blood trailed off from the house but not for long. Perhaps that was good. My son wasn't bleeding heavily. But with nothing to leave a trail, Father lost any ability to track them as soon as we reached the creek. He'd stared at the thin stream of water, a heavy silence pressing down on us. "Sorry, Son. They're somewhere beyond here," was all he said.

We crossed the gap and began to wander. If we could have found some sign of a trail, blood or anything else, we may have been able to pick it back up and follow. The angel was clever enough not to leave anything. My hesitation in going after Nero had cost me.

I should have left as soon as I noticed Nero missing- No, as soon as I heard his fading scream. The sound still echoed in my ears like a warped, skipping record. A reminder of my failure.

I should have left right away. I'd still failed as a parent, but my mind went haywire at the sight of my brother. Something had left  _Dante_ in such a state. My brother had taken many hits through the years, but he always healed. He never lay there broken and suffering.

Whatever that  _thing_ was, it had hurt my brother, and it had taken my son, and it would  _pay_.

The only good news I'd heard for hours was that Dante was still breathing. Father had told me as soon as he'd caught up; then almost nothing passed between us. He remained at my side even though splitting up would have been wiser, yet we didn't speak.

Not until the gray sky began to dim. The clouds obscured the sun, and I didn't have a watch, but time had passed us by. So much time, and I still couldn't find my son.

The harsh silence of the forest shattered along with the bones in my hand as my fist connected with a tree. Shards of wood ate through my knuckles. "How long has it been?" I hissed. "How long, and we've found nothing?" My hand throbbed with pain that pulsed up to my shoulder. Tears burned in my eyes, but they'd been there long before I broke my hand. All I'd given myself was an excuse to let them fall.

I was nothing but weak, so fucking weak.

"Harming yourself does nothing, Son," Father said. "We should keep moving." He must not have wanted to tell me how much time had passed. Or he just didn't know.

Though I allowed him to pull my hand away and snap any errant healing bones back into place, I leveled a glare at him. The pain did nothing to dull the anger boiling in my chest. "So we can go back to wandering aimlessly? We've found nothing. They could be hours from here by now! How did you not notice some damned angel talking to my son for so long? How does a demon not see an angel when it's right next to his house?"

Keeping his gaze on my hand, he breathed a sigh. "I will make no excuses. The fault here is mine."

My anger fizzled out like fire doused with a bucket of water. "No, no, that wasn't what I meant. This is my fault. If I'd-"

"Arguing over blame is unlike you, Son." A weary smile flickered across his lips. "And now is not the time for it. Let me explain instead. I don't believe you know much about angels."

"What was there to know?" I asked as I pulled my hand back, curling and uncurling it. "I never expected to see one. I thought they didn't involve themselves in any mortal affairs."

"That's a bit harsh, but I suppose it's true that they rarely care to show themselves. That's not entirely their faults, as they are little more than puppets. They have almost no free will of their own. Giving that much power to something with free will can be devastating, which is why Fallen lose much of their strength. However, I don't believe this to quite be the case with J."

"Great. Of course not." That would be our luck. "What's wrong with this thing?"

"First, it has not completely fallen yet. That process takes some time. Second, it isn't a warrior angel, but it's trying to be. Warriors are too powerful to hide their presence. Powers, Principalities, Archangels - those high in the hierarchy - I would notice them in an instant. You would too. They are smothering. The angels low in the hierarchy are weak, particularly to demons. Their only defense is to hide and to be too holy to touch directly. Based on what Nero said, I believe our angel also has the power of deception and illusion. The weaker angels often do not look human, so it must have used this to make itself appear as something Nero would find desirable. Thus, another child similar to him. Based on this, I believe the angel to be a Throne."

Any wise demon or hunter should have had at least a passing knowledge of angels. Dante may have been too stubborn to open a book at most times, but I knew the hierarchy, and that made no sense. Thrones were the least human of any angel. "A Throne?" I echoed in disbelief. "The giant connected rings covered in eyes?"

He nodded. "That's the one. They are the angels of will and justice but also the bringers of positive energy. Didn't J always make Nero happy? But now its will is too strong, its sense of justice warped. Fallen can be...unpredictable."

He was skirting around saying that it could harm Nero, but I knew that well enough. I'd already seen what it could do in the blood bubbling from Dante's chest and the shattered window coated red with Nero's blood like stained glass.

"But Thrones don't have wings," I said. "Didn't you say Dante was wounded with a feather?"

"Ah, therein lies our problem." His expression darkened to a seriousness he rarely showed. "If it has wings, that means it is trying to make itself into a warrior, and that makes it far more dangerous. Because of this, its form is deteriorating faster. It won't be able to maintain itself for long, but for a brief time, we must take extreme caution. I do not know what it's capable of. The last time I fought an angel like this, I lost several good men."

Another time, I could ask why he'd never mentioned fighting angels before. Knowledge on the topic would have been useful in hindsight, but it was no matter now. "I don't care what it is or what it can do," I said. "I'm going to get my son back. I just need to find the damn thing. Now. Before it gets too far."

"It shouldn't go too far, not after issuing a challenge. Technically, it has already broken the rules by taking Nero without a proper fight, but it may have believed Dante was its opponent. Either way, it should become more visible to our senses as time passes."

"I don't want time to pass. Nero is in danger." Even before the window glass had cut into him, he wasn't well. The fever had taken its toll on him. He was in no state to be dragged around to… somewhere by a rabid creature.

"In all honesty, I do not believe J will attempt to harm Nero," Father said. "It has been Nero's friend all this time, and it challenged for ownership. If it had wanted to attack Nero, it would have done so while he was alone."

The breaks in my hand weren't finished healing. I could feel them like needles under my skin as I gripped a white-knuckled fist at my side. "Why the hell does it want to own my son?" I spat.

Father opened and closed his mouth a few times before settling on a quiet answer. "Angels low in the hierarchy are guardians, Son. In its warped mind, it may believe it is protecting him."

I didn't have to ask what it was protecting him from. I could see the answer in Father's averted eyes, and it made my stomach roll with disgust. Without thought, I started walking again just to keep moving. Even if all I could do was wander in circles, I had to keep looking. I had to find my son and make sure he knew that I would let no further harm come to him.

He needed to know that he was safe, even from me.

No one would be allowed to hurt him. Never again.

"I don't care what that thing's reasoning is," I said as Father hurried to my side. "It has already made Nero bleed, and I will ensure it suffers for that."

"I don't think the blood on the window was intentional," Father said. "I think that is only because Nero didn't go willingly. Not that I am trying to make any excuses for it, merely to assure you that I still believe that its intentions are not cruel."

Father and Dante could always find some positive side of any situation. They were fools, hopeful fools. It must have been nice to be able to think that way. I knew better. The logic of the situation was cold and biting as the steel of a blade. "If it were willing to spill that much of his blood already, what happens if Nero resists this thing further?" I asked. "Nero was already ill before he was taken away, and we don't know what state he's in now. We don't know how much sanity the thing has left. We must find them immediately. If anything more has happened to Nero, I..."

My throat constricted against me. I couldn't fathom losing him. Nero was a part of my life now. No, Nero was my life now. Losing him would be like having a limb hacked off or having my heart cleaved out of my chest.

I couldn't survive that.

I had to get him back.

"Why can't I sense him?" I asked, my voice fallen to a whisper as I scanned the empty forest. "How can you just tell where we are, yet I feel nothing until he's right in front of me? He's my son. Shouldn't I be able to just know?"

Father's hand came to rest on my shoulder. His words were gentle as a hum. "A father's instinct isn't magic, Son. And my demonic senses are not infinite. He's beyond me now too, but we will find him."

"Magic?" I blinked with the realization. All that wasted time, and we had such a simple solution. "Father, is there-"

"Oh no," he said, dropping his face into his hands. "Magic is a dreadful tool. You know I hate dabbling in witch's games."

"Only because you're bad at it." Mom's only skill was alchemy, which would get us nowhere in this case. I knew almost no magic myself, but Father had known enough witches in his past that I had a feeling I could drag something out of him. "Magic is the devil's work, yes? And you're a devil. Do some work."

Heaving a sigh, he peered out from between his fingers. "I don't know any magic that could easily track him if that's what you're hoping. We would have to find a witch to perform something like that, and doing so would cost us more time, I believe."

"Surely you must know something."

"Yes…" He dragged the word out with unease. "There is something that may give us a lead, but I would consider it a last resort."

"Do it," I said without a moment's hesitation. "If there's even the slightest chance, I don't care what it takes."

He slowed our pace, stopping to lean against a tree. Under his boot, he brushed away the layer of leaves and snow from its base. "I was afraid you might say that. You're supposed to be the cool-headed one here, but if we must-" He held out his hand for me to give him mine. "-I will need your blood."

I didn't ask how much. It must have been a great deal because his expression pinched with pain as I drew Yamato and offered him the grip before giving over my hand.

"Admittedly, the runes should be made with human blood," he said, a pointless attempt at distraction as he bit the blade into my wrist. Yamato cut clean and deep. My blood flowed out from a neat line that sealed almost instantly. Father chewed his lip as he dipped his fingers into the blood like a brush to a palette. "I've never seen this done with a half-blood, so I am uncertain if it will work," he continued. "But I will need a great deal of blood."

"Then pierce the blade through and keep it there," I said.

Father winced.

I tried to take Yamato back as he knelt down to start scrawling along the ground, red mixing to a deep brown in the damp earth. When he refused to return the sword, I wrapped my hand around the blade. Had I squeezed any harder, it could have eaten right through my fingers. Blood traced down the silver edge to pool along the grip. "I have been through worse," I said. "This is nothing."

"I know, but I hate to see any harm come to you."

The ground wasn't a good place for runes, it seemed. Each time Father traced a line, it vanished into the soil, and he would have to go back over it. "Wouldn't a rock be better?" I asked, but he shook his head.

"It must be the ground. I'm sorry."

By the time my blood began to stay on the surface, I found my skin buzzing. I had to switch hands as my left grew pale and too weak to grip the blade. A drowsy haze crept into the edges of my vision. Blood loss had never been a problem before, not even when I'd been run through, but a slow, steady loss must have been enough to get to me.

"How does a human survive this?" I asked, my tongue heavy and sticking. "Or do you use multiple humans?"

"You must use the blood of one," he said. "They are usually bedridden after this."

"Well, at least they don't die, I suppose."

"Yes… usually."

The sigil was the width of my shoulders and so intricate that I couldn't imagine how Father could remember it without reference.

"Demons are good at recalling any rituals our blood has been part of," he said.

"What?" I blinked hard, trying to find focus.

"You asked how I remembered it."

"Did I say that aloud?" I muttered.

Despite the worry in his eyes, Father smiled. "Do try to stay coherent, Son. I need you for this next bit. Witchcraft really isn't a specialty of mine, so I hope all that effort was worth it." He drew Yamato across his own hand before raising his hand up above the sigil. "Now would be a good time to cross your fingers or to see if God has a sense of humor and might listen to a prayer or two."

Before I could force my frayed mind to understand the joke, Father's blood dripped into the center of mine, and the sigil lit up in a blinding flash of red light.

It must have truly been blinding because my vision was black after that. I could feel that my eyes were open, but blinking changed nothing, and I couldn't seem to turn my head. "Father?" I called as I reached out a heavy hand. "I can't see."

"Nothing?" His hand caught mine before I could let it drop back to my side. "Did it fail?" Having him hold onto me would have been irritating any other time, but it was a relief to know that he was still there, that I hadn't been tossed somewhere totally blind and alone.

"Am I supposed to see something?" I asked.

"You should be seeing what Nero sees."

The thought sent ice through my veins. I struggled to breathe through the constricting weight of fear. "It's just black," I said. "Does that mean his eyes are closed?"

Father's grip on my hand tightened. "No, you should be his eyes now. You control whether they're open or closed and where he looks. This also means that Nero himself is blind for the moment, though it could be that there's nothing for him to see. He may be somewhere dark. Damn, that's not much information to go on."

I wasn't sure what was worse - stealing my son's sight or there being no sight to steal.

"How long will this last?" I asked, squinting in the darkness in search of any shape or color.

"Until the runes evaporate, so not long," Father said. "You also won't be able to move from that spot until then."

All that work and blood loss for such a shoddy spell. It was no wonder Father was so hesitant to use it.

A spark flickered in my vision for an instant. Even as I wondered if it was a trick of my eyes, another spark flashed and burst into the miniscule flame of a pocket lighter. The light brought a yellow glow to the disintegrated hands holding it. The tips of the fingers were nothing but bone, flesh hanging off in chunks like soggy paper. Rivulets of black painted skin and bone.

"Father," I said in a breath as though it might be able to hear me. "What does this angel look like exactly?"

"I'm not certain. Why? Do you see something?"

The lighter caught along some cloth laid out on the ground, creating a weak fire fed with a handful of twigs. As the fire bathed the area surrounding it in light, I realized that the hands were the least horrific thing about that  _thing_. Though it wore a cloak that shadowed its face, the fabric didn't hide everything.

A spine came into view with skin stretched across it so tightly that the edges of vertebrae tore through. It simply didn't have a stomach or organs. There was no space, just a spine leading up to a gleaming ribcage. The gaps between sloughing skin showed a black, pulsing cavity behind its ribs. The only things that were whole were the wings that rested at its side. Pure white glistened with lines of the hateful black substance.

"That thing is near my son," I hissed.

"You can see it?" Father asked. "What do you see?"

"It's…" I couldn't find the right words to convey my disgust and horror with the thing. "It lit a fire, but I still can't see much. The whole area is black."

The hooded face tilted toward me. From the shadows, a shimmer reflected in the firelight like the gleam of eyes, but it wasn't where its eyes should have been. "It's looking at me," I said.

"Well, it's looking at Nero," Father corrected.

That wasn't better. In fact, it became much worse as the thing crouched down close to the fire, and the light bled under the hood. The skin of its right cheek was simply gone, exposing the skull and jaw beneath. Both eyes were gaping sockets, and the inky substance poured out from them to drip from its jaw.

When it spoke, I heard nothing, but it did appear to still have a tongue. That was unfortunate to see as well.

"It's speaking," I said. "But I can't hear it."

"No, the spell only affects sight," Father said. "Do you see anything else that may indicate where they are?"

Tearing my gaze from the horror in front of me was a challenge, especially as it began to crawl closer. Closer to my son. "Rocks," I said in a rush. "There are just rocks all over the ground. They might be gray. It's hard to tell." The thing was close enough that it began to block out my view of anything else, and my voice stumbled in my growing panic. "I think the rocks are wet. They're shining in the firelight."

"A cave then?"

"Father."

"What is it?"

"It is right in front of my face."

He didn't correct me this time. Its empty eyes consumed my vision, and I couldn't bring myself to blink or look away. I stared back as its rotting fingers came up between us. Pointed bones hovered just in front of my eyes.

It vanished. Like changing the channel on a TV, the view shifted without me even blinking. Father was back in front of me once more, his brows knitted. "What?" I managed as I glanced around the forest that I'd never left.

"The spell's worn off," Father said.

I tightened my grip on his hand so much that I could feel his bones straining. "Then Nero can see again? Nero can see that thing?" And I couldn't. I didn't know what it was doing anymore.

"Could it have been a cave?" Father asked, his gaze firm enough to pin me back into reality.

"Yes," I said, nodding. "I believe it was. Is there one around here?"

With a gentle tug, he had me release his hand. "Let's see," he said.

A torrent of demonic energy crashed down on us as Father Triggered. The form should have been impressive or frightening, but I knew it too well. Despite everything changing, I could only see my father standing in front of me. He rolled his neck and raised the wings that I so rarely saw him use.

There was a reason for that. They were loud.

As they began to move, I had to keep myself from covering my ears despite knowing that it would do nothing. They flashed at his back like a dragonfly's wings, moving too quickly to be seen as anything but a gray blur. The sound was an endless, droning thrum that seemed to seep into my bones. I imagined this must have been what it was like to stand on the inside of a ringing church bell. My already-buzzing head didn't take well to it, forcing me to focus on my balance to remain standing.

Father couldn't see well. That much I knew. He often mixed up me and Dante if we were standing beside each other. But he had a sense of space and sound that was beyond my comprehension. By rattling the entire forest, he must have been seeing better than his eyes ever could.

As he flashed back to his false human form, I had to take a step to keep from tumbling over. "I found a possibility," he said. "I will look into it."

"And I'm going with you," I said before he could tell me otherwise.

Weariness drowned out his attempt to look firm. His voice was more mournful than scolding. "You're weak from blood loss and using magic, Son."

" _And_  I'm going with you. If any chance exists that Nero is there, I must go."

With heavy eyes, he offered Yamato back to me, and I sheathed the blade. "Just be careful," he said. "I could not bear for anything to happen to you either."

"Nero comes first, but I'm not foolish enough to rush in against an angel."

At any other time, I wouldn't have been, but even as I spoke the words, I knew them to be a lie. I needed to reach Nero quickly. For once, I saw the advantage of playing to Dante's usual tactics and throwing myself in headfirst.

Whatever it took to get my son back.

Father led us back to the creek of all places, tracing along its edge as fresh snow began to fall once more through the trees. He kept his pace brisk enough that we made steady progress, but I could tell that he would have gone faster had I been in better shape. I couldn't complain. If he'd wanted to lose me, he could have in an instant. My warping wouldn't get me far in such a state.

The creek must have flowed as a massive river years before. As we reached an area further out than I'd ever gone as a curious child, a jagged cliff face jutted up on each side of us. Trees perched at the top had parts of their roots sticking out from the walls.

"I felt a pocket in the earth somewhere nearby," Father said, turning so that our backs were facing. "I could check again to narrow it down, but I don't want to risk lowering my guard if J is nearby. And I feel as though… they might be."

"I don't sense anything," I said, though that could have been because my whole body still felt weighted. I reasoned that Father could keep an eye out for the angel while I searched for a space along the walls wide enough for Nero to fit through. Cracks spidered up both sides, but I saw none that looked like the mouth of a cave. One wall had a lip about halfway up that blocked part of the view, so I snapped a summon sword over to it and warped up in its place. Though I found nothing notable and the ground under my feet felt so soft that it was sure to crumble at any moment, the ledge made for a nice perch to skim the area.

And from there, I noticed the air shimmering at Father's back. I thought it was a trick of my tired eyes until the air warped in a more distinct shape. Before I could even attempt a warning, Father's eyes widened with the realization. He tried to turn, but we were both too late.

I could do nothing but yell for him.

J flashed into view just as it rammed a wing through Father's spine. Feathers tinged with gore burst from his chest. As he opened his mouth, a river of blood poured down his chin. His Trigger flashed on and off like a glitching screen, never remaining. With each attempt, his expression grew more pained until the damned creature spread its feathers and tore them back out.

Everything happened in an instant, the same instant it took me to launch a volley of summon swords toward the angel, but that was long enough for Father to wind up staggering.

My father did not lose his feet.

"Damn you," I spat at the angel as I warped into the place of one of my swords. J answered each crystalline weapon with one single flap of its wings that sent dozens of feathers toward me like arrows. I had no choice but to leap back as they broke through my attack and shattered my swords.

That gave J enough time to vanish once more. "Invisibility?" I said. "You didn't mention that, Father."

"Not invisibility," he said, his voice as ragged as the rocks around us. "Illusion." The air reeked of burning flesh, and steam rose from the bubbling hole running through him, yet he still had the mind to smirk. "So that's how you harmed my son," he called into the empty air. "I'm glad to know so that I may pay you back for the pain."

"Will you be alright?" I asked.

"Yes, just keep an eye out for a moment, would you?" Jamming his fingers into the wound, he tore out another one of those feathers. Once it was out, he coughed, and that cursed black substance spilled from his lips. "Not as strong as before," he said between croaking breaths. "But it still burns like hell."

"How is it not invisibility?" I asked as I backed closer to my father, not wanting to leave any openings for the damn thing.

With a forced deep breath that was wet and agonized, Father straightened himself and drew his sword. "Like Nero said, J can make anything, so they can make the air appear as a cloak, but it's not infallible."

Another round of the feathers appeared from nowhere, speeding toward us. Dante wasn't allowed to complain about my teleporting anymore when I had to deal with this invisibility bullshit. Shoving Father away, I leveled Yamato to cut through any that drew close, but the first one passed right through my strike with no resistance. In fact, I didn't touch it at all. There was nothing to touch.

Illusions worked both ways, I realized.

Something was at my side.

I had to kick all of my weight down onto my heel to have any chance of altering my momentum. It was enough to keep my heart from being pierced but not enough to save me completely. The wing tore through my shoulder instead, rending muscle and bone. The pain burned so brightly that the rest of my body ached with a chill. I didn't feel Yamato slip from my grasp. I only heard it clatter to the ground.

Another wing darted in to take off my head, so I opted to leave Yamato where it lay. Jumping back ripped the feathers from my shoulder. All support for my arm dropped. It seemed to hang on by a few threads, dangling useless at my side.

Holding it up with my other arm, I Triggered in hopes that it could mend. The agony was instantaneous, and I understood then why Father couldn't manage to keep his Trigger stable. Though I was able to keep mine by gritting my teeth and teetering at the edge of consciousness, Father had to catch me by the shoulders to keep me from falling. Though my shoulder didn't heal enough for me to regain full control of my arm, I let my Trigger fall so that I could see through the pain again.

J was gone again when my vision returned.

"J, Angel, whatever you are, give him back!" I demanded to the air. "Give Nero back to me!"

"Why should I?" a childish voice called back with equal venom. It seemed to be all around us.

I once again pressed my back to Father's, the two of us watching all sides with the frantic unease of prey. "You cannot take care of him!" I said. "You've already done him harm!"

"So have you."

I couldn't deny that. Truly, I wasn't a good father. I couldn't take care of Nero either, not properly. I couldn't give him the life he deserved, but neither could this damned angel, and I would not let them hurt my son further. "Then don't give him back to me," I said. "Give him to my mother and father, my brother even. They are worthy of looking after him. They can keep him safe and happy."

It screamed. At least, that was all I could imagine the sound to be. Like a high, shattered note on the violin, it pierced the air with a beautiful, horrible cry. "No! Only I can make him happy!"

"Vergil!" Father said in a startled warning. In a blink, J was in front of me once more, but their eyes were in place, their skin flawless. Everything about them was pure white and shimmering blue. Six wings curled in to cut me open until Father tossed me out of the way with enough strength to knock me into the cliff side. My shoulder burst with pain at the collision, but I paid it no mind. I could only see my father swiping his sword through a perfect image.

An illusion.

"Damn," Father hissed at the same realization as the false J vanished. Like me, his momentum was already set. When the true J appeared at his back, he Triggered and flared his wings to meet those ready to tear into him.

I could do nothing but watch as they did. His wings snapped under the opposing force, and one of J's wings sliced into his leg.

That was enough. He dropped to his knees before I could finish summoning Yamato back to my hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dads getting their asses kicked is really a favorite topic of mine. Get wrecked, Spaghetti.


	10. I Love You, Kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sap sap sap sap sap sap.

I'd seen my father wounded dozens of times. Swords, bullets, and fangs had landed blows that would have been fatal to a human. Still, he always healed with ease. I knew how powerful he was, how truly difficult it was to damage him.

Yet a surge of childish panic still tore through me as I saw him drop, his Trigger vanishing once again. Father was not supposed to falter against any enemy, especially not one that had already done severe damage to my brother.

As soon as Yamato reached me, Summoned Swords flared to life in the corners of my vision. They glistened in the gray light and cut through the air with a whistling song. J's wings tore from Father's back to flare up as a shield against the swords. I had every intention to warp into the place of one, to throw myself at the angel with a reckless fury, anything to get it away from my father.

"Vergil! Stay back!" Father's voice was sharp with a command in a way I'd only heard him use against lesser demons. As I halted my step, the phantom swords hovering in the air, Father rolled to the side to avoid a wing that buried itself into the packed snow where he'd been an instant before.

He must have been trying to protect me, but I'd had enough of that. I would not stand idle. Besides, I wanted to see that thing die for all the pain it had caused.

Another wing fell like a guillotine, catching against Father's sword as he threw it up between them as a shield. The feathers split along the blade. It must have cut down to flesh because the white began to soak black, and J let out another wail.

For some reason, Father's eyes were on me instead of the murderous creature above him. Once he had my gaze in return, he jerked his chin up a fraction despite the wince caused by the movement. Though it was obviously a signal of some sort, I would have preferred he kept his attention on the enraged angel now screeching words that were both unrecognizable and agonizing to my ears like a whole chorus screaming off key.

"Mortal realm curses aren't good enough?" Father asked with a sneer. Blood stained his teeth. "You're that desperate? Come on, stop playing cheap. Let's see you really fight, Angel."

Father did taunt his enemies at times, usually with a bright smile and a bad joke that no one but him would laugh at. This taunting sounded more like something Dante would say. Dante, who always wanted all the attention. My eyes shot wide at the realization. Father was playing decoy. He must have known something that J was trying to hide.

Nero.

I turned in the direction Father had signaled before. Behind me, mere inches from where I'd hit the wall of dirt and stone, the air shimmered, wavering like something in the distance on a sweltering day. Stepping back, I reached out with Yamato. The blade seemed to vanish as it touched the distortion - another illusion to cloak something along the wall.

I heard the crack of the angel's wing striking the ground once again, and Father wheezed a mocking laugh. "Where's your god's power? This is all you have?"

"Just go away!" the angel sobbed. "Just die! Leave us alone!"

The illusion flickered so quickly that it seemed like I'd blinked. One moment it showed a wall, the next a dark gap, empty and endless. Yamato appeared whole once again; then it all snapped back to the false image. The angel's concentration had faltered for just an instant, but that was enough.

Though my body still tensed from my mind screaming at me that I was about to smash face-first into rock, I threw myself into the illusion. The world fell to pure darkness. I could make out faint outlines of the walls and floor nearby, but that was the best my eyes could manage even with my demonic blood. The cavern ahead was a yawning void that seemed as though it could have led to an endless fall of an abyss. The air was so thin and icy that each breath tore into my lungs like a knife.

Far too cold for Nero.

I hated to leave Father and the fight, hated to leave that thing alive at my back. Every burning nerve in my body buzzed with an incoherent demonic insistence to go back. But, at the same time, I could only move forward. Like on that day at the orphanage two years before, some thread pulled me where I needed to be. I ran blind into the darkness.

Dragging Nero out into the fray was absolute stupidity. I knew it was, yet I had to get to him. I had to make sure that he was alright. I needed to see that he was alive, needed to see his bright eyes and hear his voice as sharp and irritable as always. I felt as if I didn't have that, if I never heard him laugh again, then the darkness around me would become palpable, would sink into my veins and drown me.

After I made sure he was alive, I could figure out what to do to get him to safety.

A scream echoed from behind me of absolute loss and fury. "No!" J's voice raced along the walls after me. Father's distraction had failed. I didn't know what that meant for him, but I couldn't think about that then. I just had to keep going. Trying to fight the thing while blind in an enclosed space was death plain and simple. The most I could do was toss summoned swords behind me like Dante would foolishly spray bullets in all directions.

Even as I felt something approaching, even as a feather ripped through my side like a bullet through paper, I just kept running.

The wound brought fire with every step, every movement and stinging breath. Heat coated my side, the only thing that felt warm. I wasn't certain when I'd gotten so cold.

"Stop!" J shrieked in its beautiful, twisted voice. With a gust of wind, more of the feathers whipped past me, some gashing along my arms, one across my cheek. "I will not let you hurt him further!"

"Neither will I!" I called in return.

I would not let J hurt him.

I would not let myself hurt him.

Another feather tore through the left side of my chest, shredding my lung so that my next breath came as an agonizing, wet gargle of blood. I staggered just as another voice called out. It kept me from falling.

"Dad?"

He sounded as thin as a wavering candle flame lost somewhere in the dark. Fear and pain filled that one short word I'd never heard from him before. I had always thought the title would sound foreign, yet my blood roared in recognition.

My son was here.  _My son_  was hurt. My pain was nothing. I had been through far worse than the hiss of my boiling blood, and I would have suffered even more to get to him. Anything to save him.

"I'm coming, Nero! I'm going to get you home!"

"Dad!" he said again, a hopeful sob.

My knee seared with the familiar burn of another one of those damn feathers just as the ground vanished from beneath my next step. Somewhere below, I could see the glowing ember remains of a sleeping fire.

That looked like quite the drop.

Snapping into my Trigger made every wound burn with fresh pain so white-hot in its agony that my consciousness blurred at the edges. In that moment of weightlessness, I could have been falling into sleep. But that thought vanished as soon as I hit the ground, the impact shattering my ruined knee like an insect crushed under heel. I hissed air through my teeth, catching myself with my hands to keep from collapsing as my Trigger failed once more. A mind-numbing weariness sank in, and my heavy body told me that would be the last of my demonic form for some time. My healing was used up as well, then. I should have listened to Mom and grabbed a vital star before I left.

With luck, I would live long enough to hear her say the usual round of "I told you so."

The weighted sound of another body falling to the lower level echoed around me, but J's voice did not. "You cannot have him back after what you've done."

I pulled Yamato up between us and struggled to find some form of footing. In the end, my broken knee remained collapsed under me. I could do nothing but sit. "That's my son," I snapped as though I could still be threatening. "He's not yours."

"He is my friend! He chose me! He did not choose you. He wished to be rid of you, so I will fulfill that."

J's wings lit up with a sudden, blinding gleam, and my death bared down on me with one quick step from the grotesque child. Even as it flashed in front of me, wings raised like swords, I found my mind stuck on what it had said. Nero wanted me gone. Nero hated me that much.

The pain from that thought was deeper than any of my wounds.

And yet, I could only think that I deserved it.

Because I had done nothing but fail him over and over.

Even now. I was failing him again.

"J! No!" Nero screamed. I heard a rush of small footsteps, bare feet against slick rocks. They were far too close.

The light of the wings grew shadowed in my eyes from the outline of my son standing in front of me, his arms outstretched, his whole body shaking.

He would be nothing against the wings already cutting down toward us.

I didn't think. There wasn't time. All I knew was that my son was about to be cut to pieces. My hand appeared curled into the back of his shirt. Yamato dropped to the ground as I jerked Nero back into my arms, curling around him. My Trigger returned in exchange for blood boiling from my mouth. The pain was endless, exhausting. Every moment I remained in that form tore me apart, but I held on. I needed for it to be enough to shield him. The angel could cut into me all it wanted, but I couldn't let it get through to my son.

Time must have passed. I couldn't quite tell. I couldn't tell much anymore. A comforting sound tugged me back toward reality.

"Dad? Dad!" Small, icy fingers touched my cheek. "Are you okay?"

I wasn't in my devil form anymore, it seemed, though I wasn't sure when it had left. "I'm okay," I lied in a voice jagged as a rusty blade. On the ground around us was a slew of the murderous feathers, fallen and curled as though they could be as light and harmless as any others. The soft glow they continued to give off made Nero's eyes shimmer in the darkness. My arms pulled him in close once more. "Everything will be alright," I murmured. It was an unrealistic thing to say. Cruel nonsense. I'd never been one for placating lies, but I felt I had to give Nero something, anything that might comfort him. "We'll go home. I'll keep you safe."

A sob tore through him as he buried his face against my shoulder. His words were near incoherence. "Wanna go home. Please, Dad. Let's go home. Please. Please."

"Of course, Son." I pressed my cheek to his. He felt like fire. "I've got you. It will be alright."

When J's voice touched the air, Nero tensed. My arms held him tighter on instinct. I might have worried that I was crushing him, but his arms circled my neck in return so hard that I struggled to breathe. "Nero, why?" J asked. They truly sounded like a child for the first time, small and terrified. I could no longer see them or any light from their wings. "Why would you want to go with him? He's  _horrible_."

"No! No! He's not bad!" Nero said. "I'm sorry I broke your violin, Dad! I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry!"

"What?" was all I could manage for a moment. A painful, croaking laugh broke from me as I realized what he was saying. "Oh, Nero, I don't care. I don't care about the violin. As long as you're okay, it doesn't matter."

"Nero," J said. "All he's done…"

"Don't hurt him, J." Nero looked out with a glistening eye toward where the angel might have been. "Please don't hurt my family. I love my family."

"Even your father?"

Pressing himself back in toward my chest, Nero whispered his answer. "I love my Dad."

My eyes burned with tears. I couldn't stop them from falling. How strange. He'd never told me that before. I'd never even thought about it, yet I felt as though I'd just found something I'd needed for so long. My heart beat with the strange assurance. Love. He loved me. Even after all I'd done, after all my failures. I didn't know how he could do it. Perhaps he was confused, feverish, delirious. But I bowed my head over him and gave him something I had denied him for so long as well. "I love you so much, Son."

The angel was silent as Nero's hiccuped sobs filled the chasm. Well, I hadn't meant to make him cry more. I could never quite do anything right.

"Angel," I said, "if you care about Nero and his safety, you have to let him go. I don't care what you do to me, but you must let him get back to my mother. She can heal his injuries and his illness."

"Does he make you happy?" J asked. Though I was unsure if the question was for me, I did not hesitate to answer.

"More than anything."

J sighed, and I could hear their steps begin to drift off to the right. "I do not understand it, but you make Nero happy as well. I've never felt him this happy before."

I wasn't sure how that made sense when Nero was sobbing himself to sleep, but I wasn't going to argue with the mad creature.

"His happiness is not for me," J said. "That is… painful. I have failed."

From the distant mouth of the cave, an uneven set of footsteps dragged along. It seemed my backup was on its way. A relief, seeing as I doubted my ability to move. It was also a relief to feel Father's demonic power, even if only a sliver of it. I should have known the old bastard was too stubborn to die.

As though a swarm of fireflies had all come to life in the cave at once, spheres of soft light appeared in the air all around us. One by one, they brightened the space in an array of colors, hanging in the air like dust motes. For the first time, I could see Nero's bloodied face and damp hair, bathed in blues and reds. He reached out to touch the closest light, but his fingers slipped through. "Cold," he said as his tears turned to sniffles.

And for the first time, I truly saw the angel as well. Well, no, that was an illusion too, but I understood what it wanted just from the wavering smile on its lips. Its bright blue eyes were much like my son's, filled with the same tears. The shining wings at its back began to dull, feathers fluttering to the ground like petals shredded from a flower. Its image would flash and waver, showing the truth of its warped face and flesh, of the blackened blood pooling from it.

But it fought to hold the false form it must have shown my son for so long. It looked so much like him. "It seems this will not last much longer," it said, raising its hands to bring more of the lights into the air. "I hope this is working, Nero. I hope you don't have to see the truth. I cannot see anymore, but I still remember the lights. I miss them."

I needed to kill it, now, while it was open and distracted. But Nero's heavy eyes seemed to have some sense of his surroundings, enough that he looked toward Father as he dropped in among the lights. Father's gaze swept the room as well, lingering on the angel for little more than a second before he limped over to us. "Are you well, Son?" he asked.

"'Well' is a strong word, but I am still breathing. It seems neither of us is in the best shape to climb back out of here."

"Ah, you're both here then," the angel said as Father knelt at my side. "My apologies. I never introduced myself. Well, I should apologize for a great many things." Their smile was pained. "I am J. I had a different name once, but it's just J now, like the letter. I just wanted you to know that I'm real, and it's my fault the violin broke, not Nero's. Nero is very important to me, so please take care of him. He is my best friend."

I had been so eager to kill the angel, but the realization that it was handing its life over to me soured the idea into something far more twisted. Though I knew how to fight and how to end a life, I had never played executioner for the willing. The idea no longer held any satisfaction, just the grim reality of mercy instead.

"Please," J said, perhaps sensing my hesitation. "Not much of me remains. I would wish to be myself at the end."

"I can do it," Father said, but I shook my head and pressed Nero's face back toward my chest in case those dull, exhausted eyes might still be able to see.

I felt as though I should say something to the angel, perhaps some cruel quip or condemnation. Perhaps I should have thanked it for when it brought Nero happiness. But I could manage neither, anger and dissatisfaction both clawing within me with no clear victor. Curling my hand around Yamato's grip, I brought the pale blue light of my summoned swords to join in with the rest.

"I have a great many regrets," I said.

J nodded. "As do I."

"I wish things could have been different."

"Yes." It bowed its head. "I loved you as well, Nero. I'm very sorry. I never wished to hurt you."

And I wished it did not smile and cry with my son's face as I let the blades fall through it. They shattered as the rest of the lights vanished. We were in the dark once again.

Leaving the cave was a hellish task made more difficult because I refused to let go of Nero. Father offered a dozen times to hold him, much how he was already holding me upright despite his damaged leg. "Just for a moment," he'd say, but I could not bring myself to let go of my son. I needed him close just in case something tried to take him again.

Though Nero's fingers were cold even against my chilled skin, his face burned with a fever. "Can you hear me, Nero?" I asked every few steps. His whimpered responses grew more and more distant until they vanished altogether. Once we made it back into the daylight, Father took one of Nero's limp arms in his grasp, examining the dark stain of black across his forearms. It tinged his veins dark as well, a striking horror against his pale skin.

Father started to speak, but I cut him off. "Carry him home quickly." Though my arms still wished to remain locked, I forced them loose so that Father could take him from me. "Let Mom see to him."

"I'm not going to leave you here, Son," Father said as he took Nero, holding the boy in a cradle as though he were a much younger child.

"I won't be able to keep up, but I will follow. Go quickly, Father. I know I can trust you with this." A quirk of my lips toward a smile and a few nice words were all it took. Father could be conned into doing anything that way, but in truth, I meant everything I said. Father would take care of my son. He always had.

"Go slow," he said with worry swimming in his eyes. "Do not strain yourself. I will come back to help you."

For once, I didn't mind the thought of his help. I nodded as I brushed the slick bangs from Nero's closed eyes. "Please be well, Son," I said. He slept on, his lips blue, his cheeks splotched red.

As soon as Father slipped away, they were already far from my reach, vanishing from my sight within moments. Without them there, I could no longer force myself to feign any stability. Two limped steps were all I could manage before I had to grasp a tree for support. Coughing sent blood and that strange tar spilling from my lips. My demanding pulse made my entire body throb with pain. The best I could do was drag myself from tree to tree, but my own weight pressed down on me. Every breath rattled like a damaged engine.

I didn't last long. My bad knee gave out on me after one too many steps. I fell as though someone had kicked me down. All I could think was how cold the snow was going to be when I smashed my face into it.

A hand latching onto my arm saved me the humiliation. "Hey, the ground is a pretty rough place to sleep, you know. I wouldn't recommend it," my brother chirped by my ear.

Actually, having Dante hook my arm around his neck to help drag me home like a drunk was more humiliating somehow. But then again, it was a relief to see him able to stand and smirk with that usual cocky expression once again. Instead of a shirt, he wore bandages speckled with blood around his chest. My idiot brother was always looking for an excuse not to wear a shirt under his coat. I breathed a laugh at the thought.

"Are you losing it?" he asked. Despite his best attempts to help me walk, my feet dragged.

"You're alright," I said. "That's good."

"Oof, wow, you really have lost it."

"The angel is dead." My eyes kept falling shut against my will. The landscape tilted and doubled in front of me the more I tried to find focus. "Nero is… He's not well. He has to recover, Dante. He has to. It's all my fault. All of this is my fault. I should have-"

"Easy, Verge, easy," he breathed. "Nero's a tough kid. Takes after his dad. You need to get some rest. When was the last time you got any sleep, huh?"

"Sorry." I wasn't sure why I was apologizing, but I couldn't think straight enough to do much else. No part of my body would listen anymore. I was far too heavy, far too weak. I couldn't even protest as Dante pulled me onto his back. It was just like the time I'd hurt my foot when we were small. He'd carried me home, saying everything would be fine despite my crying. How childish.

"It's alright," he said as though reading my thoughts. "You've carried me plenty of times too."

Perhaps that was true, and if nothing else, being able to rest against my head against his shoulder was comforting. As long as Dante was there smiling, everything had to be alright.

Sleep fell heavy around me as soon as I gave in to it.

Moving still felt impossible as consciousness returned. Gravity must have increased tenfold because even breathing was a fight against a weighted pressure. Without opening my eyes, I could tell that I was in a bed because of the warm weight of one of Mom's afghans. The blankets had brought feeling back to my fingers, and my nose no longer stung from frost. Though my body still ached with the dull throbbing of someone who had used too many vital stars, I found myself able to move without feeling as though I might pass back out at any moment.

Moving also let me feel the bandages and gauze sticking to me from old blood. I needed a shower immediately, but I realized I wouldn't be getting one any time soon as I opened my eyes. My struggle to breathe was no fault of my body's, it seemed. Nero slept on top of my chest. Reaching up a sluggish hand, I found his face still far too warm. Bandages were wound around his arms, and a patch of gauze stuck to his cheek. I knew he would wear his wounds longer than I did. I could only hope nothing left a lasting scar. The less permanent reminders he had of this, the better.

Despite his injuries, his back rose and fell with slow, even breaths, and he was drooling on my shirt. All the signs of comfort - I couldn't bring myself to be annoyed at that. He may not have healed yet, but he would be alright. The relief was enough that even his weight no longer troubled my breathing.

"Nice to see you awake."

My eyes flicked to their corners to find Father standing in the doorway. I found that someone had been nice enough to put me back in my own room. Father showed no sign of injury or pain, but he never did. He was always quick to hide his troubles.

"Good to see you too," I said. Despite my graveled voice, he smiled.

"Just so you know, Nero wouldn't stop asking for you. He was quite insistent, so I brought him to see you, and he's been out ever since."

I couldn't fathom why Nero would have asked for me out of all of us. Perhaps he was still delirious, but I was thankful regardless. "How long has it been?" I asked.

"Not long."

I didn't believe that for a moment, and I believed it even less when I looked out my window to find night looming outside. I'd been out a while.

"Do you know how Nero is?" I asked as I brushed my fingers through my son's hair and the many knots that had managed to form. Nero didn't stir no matter how many tangles I tugged free.

"He'll recover," Father said. "He was… in poor shape, but your mother has learned to patch up anything from dealing with all of us. You know how she is." His smile wavered as he winced against some present pain or the memory of one. "Nero didn't expel the poison from his blood like the rest of us. I suppose his healing just isn't that strong. Perhaps when he grows older, but… I'm glad he did not wake while we had to drain his blood of it."

"I'm glad I wasn't awake either." Having to see my son cut open sounded like hell. I wasn't sure I could have done it myself. Father's reluctance to let me bleed myself dry for that spell suddenly made more sense.

"How's Dante?" I asked for a change of subject.

"Your brother is in better shape than you are, I suppose." Father's head tilted along with his smirk. "But he still sleeps like the dead. He's sleeping in the guest room for now."

"Mom?"

He hesitated, struggling for words as his brow pinched. "We… owe her a great deal of comfort after this. She has been through an ordeal of her own, but she is stronger than the rest of us in her own way. She will be alright. She might also kill us. I'm not certain yet."

Laughing hurt. The best I could do was wheeze, which was enough to let me know where all my mending wounds were located. "Oh, I'm certain she will," I said. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't play dumb. I know you too well. How are your wounds, Father? Not even you heal from that much damage so quickly"

He laughed, tossing up his hands with a shrug. "Ah, you've caught me then. I do mend faster than the rest of you, but the burns were the worst of it. I still look quite the mess under my clothes. The less I come into contact with divine things, the better. After you went into the cave, J was quick to notice and lost interest in me, but I could only drag myself through the snow at first. I'm sorry I left you alone with them."

I shook my head as I set to work reminding my legs how to work. "Enough apologies for today. What's done is done. You did what you could, Father." My damaged knee resisted movement entirely, and I found it bound with a splint as I pulled the covers back. It had been some time since I'd needed any sort of cast. Father strode over to help me find my feet. He didn't offer to take Nero this time. He must have known better because I was content to hold my son for a while, even if he kept drooling on my shirt.

Though Father's limp wasn't as pronounced as mine, I still noticed the drag in his step as he walked at my side down the hall. The door to Nero's room was closed, and I imagined it would be for some time. With the window broken, snow would drift in among the blood spatters and shattered glass. I would have to collect his things before the snow melted. If his workbooks were soaked, all those stickers he'd plastered on them would be as well.

The door to the guest room was open. Mom lay curled at an awkward angle in the reading chair in the corner. Even while asleep, her brow remained furrowed with worry. "She was also supposed to be asleep in our room," Father murmured as he stepped past me to collect her in his arms. She roused with a grumble as he settled himself back in the chair with her cradled against him, but her discontent slipped away as she rested her head against his shoulder and faded back to sleep.

Somehow, my brother slept with his face smothered in a pillow. I was uncertain how he didn't kill himself that way. Considering his string of luck, he may have been immortal. A very unlucky immortal. His coat hung on a bedpost, allowing me to see the edges of the wound along his back from beneath the bandages. The damage looked like it could have been more agonizing than any of my injuries individually, yet he slept on the worst of it and snored into his pillow.

"What an idiot," I sighed even as I sat on the bed beside him. I'd already expended what little energy my body had, and Nero was heavy against my aching shoulder. The bed was big enough even with my brother stretched out and tangled in the blankets, so I settled Nero between us and let myself lie down for a while longer.

Along with Dante's muffled snores, I listened to everyone breathe and rested my fingers to Nero's bandaged wrist to feel the steady heartbeat beneath. For a rare moment, I felt that we were all safe.

Just as I began to doze, Dante woke with an exaggerated yawn and a stretch that halted when he jolted in pain. "Ah, fuck," he hissed.

"Could you not?" I asked.

When he cracked an eye open to find me and Nero there, a grin broke out across his face. A hand dropped to my head to ruffle my hair into worse of a mess than it already was. "Aw, did you come to check on your little brother?" Dante crowed. "How sweet."

"No, I came to finish you off."

Undeterred, his knuckles squished into his cheek, his elbow on the pillow to hold him more upright. "Yeah-yeah, in a minute. I think I want some of those leftover pancakes first. Haven't eaten in ages."

"I don't see how you can think of eating. Food sounds horrifically unappealing."

"Yeah? Well, I didn't get jabbed in the gut."

Before I could mouth off that he was too busy trying to have his heart destroyed for the hundredth time, Nero's pulse sped up against my fingers. His breathing followed suit, frantic gasps for air as his eyelids twitched with the sure sign of a nightmare. "Nero," I called, curling my hand around his shaking fingers. "Wake up. You're alright. You're safe."

"Yeah, we've got you now, Kid," Dante said, his smile fading.

Nero woke with a start, his eyes wide with panic and glossy with tears. My first bad experience with a demon had given me nightmares that lasted months, and Nero had been through worse. I feared the memory would eat at him for some time. For now, all I could do was put my arms around him and pull him close once again. "You're safe, Nero," I said. "You're home. Dad's here."

Nero's stuttering breaths slowed with effort, his fingers curling into the front of my shirt even as he pushed himself back to look at me. The fever still had his eyes glazed like stained glass, and he blinked slow. "You can go back to sleep," I said. "Get some rest. I'll be here."

A small hand pressed to the side of my face. Nero hummed, studying me as though to make sure I was real; then he turned back and did the same to Dante, patting his hand to my brother's cheek. Dante broke into another smile. "Hey, kid. I'm doing alright."

"Dad and Uncle are okay," Nero mumbled in assurance to himself before settling back down. "S'okay."

"Yes, we're fine," I said.

"All good," Dante agreed.

One small hand remained curled in my shirt even as he slipped back into a doze. Though Dante was still hogging all the blankets, my heart beat with a firm warmth that reached my fingertips and toes.

I pressed a kiss to the top of Nero's head.

* * *

"Not that I know anything about classical music or whatever, but that was awful by any standard, right?" Dante said, still stretching his back after an hour of complaining about the seats in the orchestra hall.

Mom smacked the back of his head. "Don't say that! The kids worked very hard."

"Oh, it was dreadful," I agreed, already braced for my turn at being hit.

"They… tried," Father said with his usual condescending smile. Mom hit him as well for good measure.

"You're all terrible! Nero sweetie, I think you and the other kids did very well."

Frowning, Nero shook his head. My violin case bounced on his knees as he rocked on his feet. "No, it was bad. I think everyone was nervous. Usually not that bad."

"Still bad though, right?" Dante asked. Mom grabbed his ear and tugged. "Ow ow ow!"

The boy whom I'd never seen before without his hooded jacket ran up to Nero. The two just about matched - collared shirts and slacks and bright white hair. I chose not to dwell on it too much. The past was best left where it lay.

"Wow, wasn't that  _so_  bad?" Drew laughed, his bark as loud as his out-of-tune trumpet had been.

"It was!" Nero said, flashing a grin.

Mom sighed.

"Oh, Drew, this is my family." Nero pointed up to us, and Drew waved.

"Hi, Nero's family. You're very tall." That was all he cared to say to us before turning back to Nero. "Did you know there's cake? We get cake!"

"We get cake!?"

"Oh, it's just what they need. Sugar," I said under my breath. But, when Nero's pleading eyes turned to me, I had to shrug. "Go on. Give me the violin."

As he settled it in my hands with a moment's anxiety like the instrument might shatter even within the case, Mom began fumbling in her purse. "Oh, wait!" she said. "Nero, here."

She handed him a few pale blue envelopes with names scrawled on one side in Nero's best attempt at penmanship. "Go have fun for a bit," I said. "But not too much cake, alright?"

Nero nodded, his smile infectiously bright as he took the envelopes. "What's those letters?" Drew asked as the two of them darted off toward the table covered in cake and little cups of juice. Nero's joy sounded over the clamor of the crowd.

"It's invitations to my birthday party!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew boy, that's enough sap to last me for weeks. Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. If you feel up to leaving me a comment, that's super rad, and I really appreciate it. I'm planning a couple sequels for this fic, so if you want to keep up with updates on that, you can follow me at BlueThorneFics on tumblr. I mostly post bad jokes, though, honestly.
> 
> P.S. Drew isn't actually an OC. Bonus points if you know what he's from.


End file.
